


Incisions to Corrupt a Mind

by deadfrnk (SuckMyKilljoy)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Catholic!Frank, Dorky!Brendon, Frerard, Introvert!Gerard, M/M, Mild Pikey, Mild Ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuckMyKilljoy/pseuds/deadfrnk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is too good for his own good, and Gerard really hates people. Period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update once a week at least. I have great plans for this story, so enjoy! Killjoy, out~

“Frank, darling, hurry up! I hate to rush my sweetie on his first day, but you’ll be late if you don’t get a move on!” Frank rolled his eyes and let out a quiet laugh, a smirk playing at the corner of his pierced lip. He straightened his tie just slightly before dropping his hands, glancing at his reflection in the full body mirror that stood before him. He pulled the tie slightly to the left, and then to the right again, sighing.

“Frank!” His mother’s tone was harsher now and he dropped his hands completely, yanking his gaze away from himself as he moved out of his room and down the stairs.

“Mother, calm down,” Frank breathed, a bit jostled from his jog down the stairs. “I have never been late one day in my life and I certainly will not start today.”

Linda Iero looked at her son incredulously, before reaching out and batting him lightly on the arm. “Frank, don’t be smart with me!” Frank laughed lightly, one hand slipping up to cover his mouth.

“Kay, ma. Sorry, ma,” he giggled out, reaching one arm out to wrap around his mother’s shoulder. Linda hugged her son back, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ll do good, baby,” she smiled, pulling away. “Just remember to be polite like always, dear, and–“

Linda was cut off as her son began to jog to the door, his out of place Chucks thumping against the redwood floors. “That’s great, ma, really, but I’m going to be late!” And before Frank could wait for his mother’s reply he had rushed out the door and out to his front yard, searching frantically for his car.

The second Frank slumped into his brand new BMW M3 (birthday present a month ago courtesy of his wonderful mother) he had turned up his radio, Black Flag playing instantly. He sunk into the pristine seats, breathing in deeply the smell of new car mixed with Marlboro reds.

On the outside, Frank wasn’t the type of person to listen to what he did, or smoke what he did (or smoke at all). In fact, if you never gave the boy a second glance, you’d think he was nothing but a lord-preaching, pretentious-talking, tie-wearing too-good kid who couldn’t be bothered by the single thought of breaking a rule. Frank thought about this as he drove; he thought about what people would think about him at this new school (the change from St. Mary’s to Belleville High wasn’t a small one), he thought about how he saw himself, and he thought about what he’d think of himself at the end of the day.

Frank didn’t like antisocial people. In fact, Frank would have rather sat in a room full of spiders¬– anything other than being partnered up on his first day a semester-long partnership with the most antisocial boy in school. If that were ever to happen, which Frank doubted. But he had a sick habit of worrying himself over improbable things and so he did so his entire way to school, the voice of Henry Rollins drowning out all outside noises.

•••••

“Ass up, Way.” Each word was a bark of unpleasantness to the dark-haired boy’s ears and he buried his head underneath his pillow, groaning loudly in response to his brother’s monotone.

“Fuck off,” he growled, except it sounded more like ‘fahck uwf’ because his face was pressed up right against his mattress. Gerard groaned again, and blinked hard. “I mean it, Michael.”

A scoff seemed to be all he would get in response. Gerard was fine with that until the monotone of his brother’s voice broke heavenly silence, “Gerard Arthur Way, don’t make me drag your fat ass out of bed!” Gerard let out a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut tight and trying to pretend he was asleep just in case his brother decided to really come in and drag him out of his basement-disguised safe haven. Mikey wouldn’t dare, he thought.

And really, Mikey wouldn’t dare, because Mikey was afraid of the stank cave Gerard liked to call his room. Mikey was afraid his brother’s zombies would come to life right off the paper and chase him out for opening a window, or picking up a dirty sock off the floor. Mikey was also just a tad bit more that claustrophobic and Gerard’s room was smaller than a pinhead. So no, Mikey really wouldn’t dare. This thought comforted Gerard and he let out a warm sigh, feeling his body sink towards the cozy holds of sleep.

Gerard was seconds away from sleep because honestly, he really though Mikey would never. So he didn’t actually expect to be jolted awake by the back of his door thudding against his cracked, black walls, and he didn’t expect Mikey’s thin, wiry fingers to wrap around his ankle. No, he really did not expect to be pulled out of bed.

Mikey cringed and looked down at his brother, who was lost in all the puffy comforter that had fallen down with him. “You owe me,” he drawled, eyes frantic as he gazed around Gerard’s room, a visible shiver running through his body. “Big time.”

Gerard groaned for the third time that morning, arm flinging up to cover his eyes. He most certainly did not want to go to school today. He most certainly did not want to go to school to day. He most entirely, absolutely did not want to go to school today.

Gerard sat up slowly, throwing an arm out and grabbing the first article of clothing that reached his fingers. It was an old Iron Maiden shirt he’d bought at a concert a year ago, and it didn’t smell too bad, so he pulled it on, feeling slightly satisfied.

Gerard stood up. He really didn’t feel like pants today but he supposed, if he was going out in public, that it would be the most acceptable thing to do. He also really didn’t want anyone seeing his gross thighs, so the search for skinnies was on.

Gerard finally managed to get out of the basement feeling presentable enough for the day. He of course realized that he’d just be ignored, again, but at least he wouldn’t be ignored and smell like a dumpster and have hair like he’d just been fucked by a steamroller.

Mikey shot him a smile and handed him an old mug of his that he’d once chicken-scratched the words ‘Doom Patrol’ on. Gerard took the mug gratefully, his crooked mouth quirking up slightly at the corner as the smell of cappuccino hit his senses.

“Catching a ride with you today,” Mikey intoned, grabbing a thin leather jacket off the back of a chair before popping up next to Gerard, a tired almost-smile on his face. It really wasn’t a smile at all– in fact his mouth was set in a straight line. But after living with Mikey his entire life, literally, Gerard knew that Mikey was smiling.

“Fine.” Gerard was pleased with his response and managed a smile– he had been feeling particularly well of himself so far this morning– until he realized that Mikey in the car meant suffering through Mikey’s music, so he added, “but none of that British shit.”

“Anthrax,” Mikey countered, and Gerard shrugged.

The brothers made their way to Gerard’s beat-up hand-me-down junker, Gerard sliding in the driver’s seat with Mikey happy to swing shotgun. The eldest Way brother carefully pulled out of the driveway, already lost in his thoughts as his younger brother popped in a mix tape of his music.

Gerard wondered what the hell he was doing with his life. He wondered what the hell he was doing, why the hell he was doing, and who the hell even cared anyway, because he sure didn’t. Mikey shot him a smile that he caught thanks to peripheral vision and he returned the gesture, but only long enough to not distract him from his severe and already very deep thinking about caring, and why to do it anyway.

He only hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone today, touch anyone today, and most of all look at anyone today. Gerard was sure of this day being a day of minimal accomplishments and he was not about to let that be ruined if he had any say, so he just hoped as hard as he could that today would be just like everything else.

Sometimes he liked being the weird introvert kid. No one to bother you, really...

He really hoped.

Frank pulled his key out of the ignition and sighed. 7:45 AM, right on time. Except he wasn’t, because he had to be in class at 7:45 AM and he was nowhere near in class. In fact, he didn’t even know what class he was supposed to be in. He sighed again and pushed his way out of his black BMW, shutting the door and glancing out at his surroundings, eyes taking in the building that was soon to become his new high school.

He made his way up the stairs, already feeling unnerved that he saw not more than a few stragglers with slips in their hand rushing to their various classes. So he was late, for the first time in his life, and he had no idea where to go, and no one was around to tell him. Great, he thought. What a way to start the day.

Frank groaned and pushed onward, hoping soon that a blaring neon sign would pop up out of nowhere to point him to the admittance office, at least, or maybe a person who could tell him where it was. No such luck, of course. Frank rolled his eyes and kept walking, anyway. He most certainly wasn’t going to give up.

He finally found a door with a silver-plated label that read ‘OFFICE & SUCH’. Well, the plate only read ‘office’– someone had scribbled the rest in thick black pen on the side of the door. Frank just ignored this, wondering whether he should knock or just push his way inside, hoping he didn’t aggravate anyone who might be in this office.

Frank’s hand found the knob before he could finish his train of thought and he shrugged to himself before turning it, and pushing the door open. “Um, hello?” he called out softly. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt but I’m new here and–”

“Just get in, you’re lettin’ all the cold out,” a gruff voice answered him. Frank startled, but made his way inside the room anyway. He was met by a woman who was–unbelievably–shorter than him, and looked as if she might have had a moustache at one time because a few dark, excess hairs resided over her upper lip. Frank grimaced but caught himself quickly, quirking the corner of his mouth up in a polite smile.

“Hate to interrupt, ma’am,” Frank started, “but I’m new here, and terribly lost. If you wouldn’t mind, please, to point out where I should head… well, I would be extremely grateful.” The woman’s gruff expression didn’t change but she turned around, letting out a grunt as she made her way to a tiny desk in the corner of the room.

“Name, please,” the woman monotoned. Frank nodded, politely, stepping forward just slightly and up to the woman’s desk.

“Um, yes, of course. Sorry, it’s Frank Ie–” Frank was cut off by the door behind him giving a loud thud against the wall and he jumped out of the way before he could be crushed by the two slightly older-looking boys that careened inside.

“Sorry, Helga,” the taller, younger one drawled, a most certainly not sorry expression on his face. “Gerard,” he grunted, gripping the second boy’s wrist and yanking him forward, “wouldn’t wake up this morning.”

The woman, Helga, just looked at the two boys with disdain. “You’re late, again, Way,” she growled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Frank scooted backward up into the corner of the room, still slightly startled by almost being brained with the door a few moments earlier. He watched on with slight interest, taking in the sight of the two boys before him.

The one who had spoken was taller, and blonde, glasses slightly askew and looking much out of place with his Anthrax t-shirt, ripped skinnies, and beat-up Keds. The slightly shorter boy behind him–Gerard, if Frank had heard correctly– was completely different in appearance (well, except for the face, which made Frank assume they were related, but Frank wasn’t counting the face). This boy had unruly, dark hair that flew out at all the wrong places. He was wearing all black, except for the slight coloring on his shirt. Frank recognized this to be an Iron Maiden tee and he smiled mentally. At least this Gerard had a decent taste in music.

“Anyway,” a gruff voice barked, and Frank was quickly startled out of his thoughts. “You’ll have to wait. I’m dealing with someone already, so scoot out of the way.” The tall boy nodded, letting his grip on the other’s wrist loose as he made his way over to where Frank was standing. Frank jumped slightly, stepping forward and back up to the desk.

“Um, as I was saying…” Frank searched his mind for what exactly he had been saying before he was interrupted, but he fell short.

“Your name,” the receptionist, Helga, groaned. “I need your name if you want to know where you’re supposed to go.”

“Oh, right. Terribly sorry, uh, Frank Iero.”

“Oh, you’re that new kid,” she grimaced. “The one from St. Mary’s.”

“Yes, that would be me,” Frank said nervously. “Now, please, the schedule, if you wouldn’t mind.” Helga snorted.

“Hold up,” she intoned, and turned to the computer that was sitting precariously on her desk. She clicked on the keyboard a few times before she turned to Frank again, her eyes narrowed. “Maths, in room B2,” she drawled.

“Oh, uh, of course. Maths. Room B2. Thank you, ma’am,” Frank smiled nervously, nodding to the woman and bringing his hand up to give a slight wave. As he was turning to the door the two boys caught his eye once more and he smiled at them nervously before pushing his way out of the tiny room.

“Maths,” Frank spoke aloud to himself, once he was back in the hallway. “B2. Maths, B2.” He repeated these words quietly aloud to himself as a mantra, eyes scanning back and forth for the room labeled B2.

He was certain that he had found it, or at least almost found it, when a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, fagboy, nice tie,” the voice jeered. Frank turned slightly in the direction of the voice, one eyebrow up curiously. He was met by a group of three brutish boys, the biggest of which had been the cause of the voice and was smirking menacingly.

Frank just shrugged, and turned back around. He wasn’t about to get in a fight on his first day. So he shrunk himself up into what he hoped was a less noticeable ball and pushed onward to B2, which he hoped to the Lord was right around the corner.

•••••

Gerard’s fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel of his shit-junk car and he sighed in annoyance, his gaze fixated on the cracked, built-in digital clock and it’s blaring numbers reading 7:40. Just great. Gerard was only half way to Belleville High and said school started in five minutes. His life was just dandy.

In fact, this particular occurrence was one high on the list of things that set Gerard into a panicked state of paralyzation, and although Gerard himself did not realize this, Mikey did, and he was not about to let that happen on such a morning like this. So Mikey turned to face his older brother, worry that the beginning of an attack was about to arise even though his face was set straight and expressionless, and he poked Gerard in the shoulder.

“What– Mikey, what?” Gerard asked, agitated as he shot his brother the same annoyed stare he had been giving the clock not seconds before. “I’m kinda busy here, shit!” Mikey leaned back slightly in his seat, stoic expression not changing even as he let out a sigh of relief.

“You worry me sometimes, Gerard, just–” Mikey cut himself off and returned his gaze forward, crossing his arms and grunting. “Never mind it, damn it.” Gerard let out a ruffled ‘thank you’, once more giving the clock his full attention. Mikey glanced over just in time to see that his brother was not at all paying attention to the fact that he was now driving in the wrong lane, and let out a, “Fucking really?” before shoving Gerard’s arm and giving him a list of all the curse words he knew.

“You are going to get us killed, Gee, dammit. Pay a-damned-ttention to the fucking road and not the shitty time, for fuck’s sake!” It was the most Mikey had said in a full sentence since last week, when he and Gerard had gotten into a heated debate over which horror movie deserved to be in the top five, and this got Gerard’s attention, for sure.

“Fine, Mikey, fucking fine!” he blurted out, making a much exaggerated and slightly humorous point to look at the road before him. “I am now paying attention to the– shit, I’m in the wrong lane!” Gerard yelped and quickly swerved into the correct lane, ignoring the various honks he received from his reckless driving.

Mikey screeched. “I tried to tell you that, asshole, but fucking no, you were too busy staring at the clock!” The clock that now read 7:45, and the Way brothers were still not at school. Gerard growled.

“I hate this. I hate it. See, I didn’t want to go to school today for a fucking reason. I knew this was going to happen, I just knew it,” he groaned.

“Well maybe if you’d gotten your fat ass up when I had told you to–”

“Don’t you dare even start with me, Mikey. Don’t do it!” Gerard hissed, swerving the car around a surprise corner. "Just shut up and be quiet... shut up, and be quiet."

“You said that twice, asshole.”

“Shut up and be quiet.”

•••••

The Way brothers eventually did get to school, at 7:47 which meant that they were only two minutes late to class, but sadly also meant that tardy slips were necessary and tardies meant detention and Gerard was so not looking forward to detention again this week. So the two brothers booked it down their now empty school halls, Gerard panting like he was carrying the weight of two men on his shoulders and Mikey rolling his eyes the whole time.

The two got to the main office in what seemed like twenty minutes time, but was more like two, and they burst through the doors without a warning, nearly knocking into some poor kid who neither brother had ever seen before.

Mikey grabbed Gerard’s wrist and yanked him forward, spewing some crap about how everything and their grandmother was Gerard’s fault, but Gerard was too busy noticing the boy off to the side –thanks to Mikey almost braining the poor guy with the door– to really even care about the touching that was not supposed to be happening, or the blaming that so wasn’t fair.

Gerard’s wrist was yet again pulled by Mikey, this time over to the waiting chairs because apparently Helga was taking someone else’s shit before theirs. This was understandable to Gerard, because they had barged in with no warning and they had interrupted, which was rude. Gerard took his time in the waiting chair to take in this new boy’s appearance and, once he had, he almost laughed out loud.

The boy looked from the ankles up like he belonged at some Catholic shitstain school and nowhere near Belle-fucking-ville High, home to the most ‘eat ass and throw up in Grandma’s china vase’ kids on the fucking planet. It was only his Chucks, looking dangerously out of place and clashing terribly with the crisp white dress shirt and blaringly red tie, that reassured Gerard the kid wasn’t a total boob, or something. If he had decent taste in shoes, maybe he had decent taste in life.

Never mind, Gerard decided, two seconds after overhearing the boy plead his case to Helga. He sounded like a fucking Bible, too. Gerard had absolutely no patience for the people so pretentious they even spoke out of their ass, and that’s what this kid was doing with all his pleases and ma’ams.

Gerard knew that this was probably high on the list of stupid reasons to hate someone upon first judgment, but he didn’t care. Plus, even if new kid had Chucks and holy shit, was that a lip ring? It didn’t matter to Gerard, he never spoke to anyone anyway and this kid would most certainly not be an acception.

Mikey caught Gerard staring and smirked–well, he didn’t move a damn muscle in his face, but he raised an eyebrow and Gerard knew too well that in this particular case, that meant a smirk, and Gerard huffed, eyes flitting down away from the new boy with his ‘entirely, extraordinarily exquisite’ vocabulary and his beat-up Chucks.

•••••

When Godboy (Gerard had decided to cleverly refer to him) had finally left and Mikey had somehow charmed his way into getting two excused (actual excused) tardies, the Way brothers were not nearly two steps out the office door when Mikey looked at Gerard, and fucking smirked again, and said, “You like him.”

Gerard spluttered, and knotted his eyebrows together in annoyance. “Fucking don’t, A, and B, you be quiet dammit.” Mikey kept his evil eyebrow raised.

“Right there,” he gestured to Gerard, all of Gerard, “is a surefire sign of like. Denial equals like,” Mikey spoke smartly, as if his crude teasing were actually the key to existence.

“I’m not denying,” Gerard groaned, as the two brothers walked side-by-side to their homeroom classes. He turned to the younger Way and hissed. “Seriously, Mikes. I don’t even know the fucking prick’s name.” Gerard was interjected here to be alerted by his younger brother that Frank Iero was actually the prick in question’s name, and Gerard shrieked an entirely manly, “I don’t care!” before continuing his spiel about how there was no way in Hell he could be attracted to someone he’d literally seen for .18 seconds and interacted with for point-none.

“Whatever,” Mikey monotoned. “You totally like him, Gerard. Honestly, if by the end of your senior graduation you aren’t fucking said ‘Iero’, then I owe you a coffee.” Gerard didn’t think that was a very fair deal, even if he never did plan to even interact with the kid, he’d still rather get a better fucking reward then a cup of coffee he could literally get free by making himself with the instant his mother constantly bought.

“More like, if I don’t end up fucking, by senior graduation, said kid I literally haven’t met yet, then I get to lock you in my room for an hour… and you have to clean it.” An actual expression of true horror and disgust crossed Mikey’s face, and he gave a pathetic cry out.

“No! Hell no, Gerard. Nuh-uh. You know I have claustrophobia, and I swear on my life a sock once growled at me when I was in there. Your room in rank. Deal’s off.”

Gerard rolled his eyes, spitting back, “Fine! I wasn’t gonna ever fuck him anyway, so there!” Mikey cocked an eyebrow and Gerard realized that what he had said hadn’t actually made human sense, and he was about to correct himself when he realized that they were standing directly in front of Mikey’s homeroom class, and the teacher was glaring at them through the door’s Plexiglas window.

“Fuck,” Gerard huffed. Mikey just looked at the older Way in disapproval. “Whatever, Mikes. Have fun with Hoper-ass.” Mr. Hoperas glared at Gerard and Gerard shrunk back, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“Thanks,” Mikey drawled. “Same for you and Tit-zilla.”

Gerard laughed as he walked to his own class, cringing slightly at the thought of Mrs. Tiesila and what she would do if Gerard wasn’t in her class within another .02 seconds. He thought that he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the new kid getting ragged on by some jocks, but he just shrugged, pushing onward to Hell.

He couldn’t be bothered by the stupid Godboy with his stupid Chucks and that stupid ring on his stupid hot mouth, anyway.


	2. Part Two

Frank was bored.

Well, of course Frank was bored. This was a frequent occurrence whenever he had to be at school and not somewhere– anywhere else, off at a concert or parked on a cliff, Black Flag blasting in his BMW as he sat back with a cigarette between his lips. Yes, indeed school was, truthfully, the most boring thing Frank had ever had the wonderful luck to attend more than once in a row. Today was no exception.

Frank stared on, and his disinterested gaze flickered across this new (and yet somehow, right away, still boring) classroom, taking in each and every new (and decidedly also boring) person who occupied it. Honestly, Frank was about to give up entirely on hoping that Belleville High would hold more interest than a dead cat when someone caught his attention, out the corner of his eye.

This someone was tall– well, wasn't everyone, compared to Frank –with deep brown, ruffled hair and heavy rings of eyeliner around his rich, brown eyes. He was wearing thick-rimmed, black glasses and white suspenders, which were quite in contrast to his black button-up shirt underneath. The tail end of his shirt had come untucked from his stark white skinny jeans, and to top it all of he was wearing grey high-top Chucks. Frank thought he looked very lively, which was shocking, to say the least. In fact, he was the brightest thing in the boorish classroom. 

And he was talking to Frank.

Frank, of course, didn’t realize this at first because he was much too busy wondering how this guy’s face was so clear, or how his eyes were so brown. Frank’s own eyes were much to be proud of, he thought, but they were nowhere near as… well, they didn’t have the interesting pop that this kid’s eyes had, they were nowhere near as bright, either. In fact, Frank was contemplating this poor kid so much that he may have never even realized he was being spoken to until the kid reached out and tapped his shoulder, giving a heavy, “Hey! Uh, you in there?” 

Frank blinked slowly, pulling his gaze away from this new kid. He quickly realized that however much he had been staring must have been quiet creepy, and was relieved to see that the kid hadn’t actually noticed, for there was nothing on his face but an excited smile. “Oh, uh, sorry, yeah,” Frank said, immediately putting off his correct speech for fear of sounding like a total nugget. Like his mom had said this morning, ‘be polite, but not too polite’. Or something along the lines of that.

“Ah,” the kid said, and then, quite rushed, “Okay, well I’m Brendon, nice to meet ya, and my pencil’s currently under your desk so if you could please–” Brendon had cut himself off and Frank looked down; indeed, there was a black pencil underneath his desk. Frank looked back up at Brendon, back down at the pencil, and then to Brendon again, almost confused.

“I can’t reach it, sorry,” Brendon began rambling, “and I would’ve gotten out of my seat and gotten it myself but I felt like that might be a bit awkward for you and so…” Brendon trailed off, smiling that happy smile at Frank. Frank blinked and his gaze dropped once more to the pencil before bending down slightly and retrieving it, holding it up to Brendon. 

“Sure, no problem,” he answered, once Brendon had taken the pencil back and thanked him.

“I mean, I hated to be a bother but you looked nice enough and so I figured, why not, Brendon? You’re only suffering yourself here not getting the damned thing back and–” he looked up at Frank embarrassed. “Sorry, I talk a lot. Uh, what did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I didn’t. Uh, Iero. Well, Frank. Iero. Yeah,” Frank said awkwardly, smiling nervously. “Don’t worry about the talking, either. I’d do it too if I knew even one person at this God forsaken place.”

“Right, you’re the new kid! The one from St. Mary’s, or something?” Frank nodded in response. “So cool,” Brendon shot back. “We never get transfers from decent places. Only Highland Park or Linden, never some private schooling institution.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider St. Mary’s to be the greatest,” Frank began. “I mean, the school outperforms like 70% of other private schools but the kids there are assholes.” Frank quickly covered his mouth at realization of what he’d said. “Oh, well I don’t mean… I mean, yeah, they are, but…”

Brendon laughed. “Dude, it’s cool anyway. It means your smart, hopefully. No one here is smart. Even the teachers aren’t smart.” Then Brendon shut up thoughtfully for a second, before continuing. “Well, Gerard Way is smart, but no one likes him. I think he’d be okay, if I ever talked to him. His brother, he’s okay, at least. Much more popular than Gerard, Mikey is. Well, Gerard doesn’t talk to people, he never leaves the house, and he’s bad at math… but I think he does A+ in pretty much everything else, so…” Brendon blushed then, looking away from Frank slightly. “Of course, you don’t care,” he giggled. 

“No, that’s… that’s interesting,” Frank reassured, his voice sincere. “You know a lot more than I do about people anyway, that’s definitely cool.”

“You did just get here,” Brendon reminded. “Well, if you really wanna know…”

Frank did. And so he spent his entire period listening to Brendon talk about who was who, the big-shot kids and the fuck-ups, the entire math period. He decided that he liked Brendon; he was very lively, and he had a generally good attitude toward life, which was nice. 

Soon it was time for next classes (the bell had interrupted Brendon on a spiel about some teacher named Hoperas and how he was Satan– quite rudely, Brendon had interpreted, and Frank had just laughed) and the boys said their goodbyes to each other, smiles on both their faces. Frank smiled as he thought of his new friend– he hoped, at least –as he walked to his next periods. Maybe Belleville wouldn’t be so boring, after all.

•••••

“Do I lo-o-ok like I ca-a-are,” Mikey sung, plopping himself down into the seat across from Gerard. It was currently lunch and the older boy was almost too enveloped in his salad to even notice his younger brother come in, even with the serenade that followed. Gerard looked up.

“No?” he questioned helpfully, and Mikey dropped his hands loudly, sighing in defeat. 

“Exactly!” the younger Way exclaimed. “I don’t know why people honestly even bother anymore.” Gerard cocked an eyebrow at the blonde boy, setting his fork down and crossing his arms over the grey table between them.

“What happened this time?” He was honestly curious but his tone came out duller, more disinterested than he intended it to. Mikey didn’t even notice; he was too riled up and in his own world to really bother, anyway.

“Hoper-ass this morning was a cunt and a half,” Mikey began, stopping himself only to take a deep breath before continuing, “and then, at least seven different girls asked me to prom. I had to turn down seven different girls, and half of them are pretty decent, so that was annoying. You know Darcy?” Gerard nodded, having tuned out slightly to give some time to his salad. “Well, she’s pretty chill, right? How was I supposed to tell her that I couldn’t go to prom with her because I was staying home with my brother, the giant chickenshit art-fag loser?”

Gerard only stopped playing with his lettuce to let out a soft, slightly offended, “Hey!” Mikey sighed.

“Well, you know it’s true,” he said sadly, “that’s what they all think of you.” Gerard exhaled, nodding. “Anyway… ugh, it was just stressful. Even after that, Pete came up and asked me if I was busy this Saturday and I had to tell him that I ‘may have to check my calendar on that one, Gerard might need me in again’. You know what he said to me, Gee? He said, ‘You need to stop letting him get in the way of your life’. What was I supposed to say to that, Gee? He’s right he’s fucking right, and I just–”

Gerard looked up, a sad expression on his face. “You like Pete,” he said slowly. Mikey blinked once, then narrowed his eyes, letting out a quiet hiss.

“Yes, I like Pete,” he rushed, looking annoyed.

“Well, you tell him yes, then. You’re free. Your calendar says you won’t be needed Saturday.” Mikey blinked at Gerard again, confused for a moment before his expression fell sullen.

“I’m not free, though. Gerard… ugh, God, this Saturday is a shot day and last time… Well, God Gerard.” Mikey sat back, his face set straight. “I can’t. I’ll tell him no, I can’t.” Gerard only blinked sadly at his salad.

“I hate that I get in the way of your social life. I’m a shit brother,” Gerard stated. Mikey lowered his head down, resting his chin on his arms, trying to get level with the older boy.

“Shh, Gee, you’re not. You’re the best brother ever. Remember when I was five and I fell off that swing, and you carried me on my shoulders home, and you carried me like that for a week, an entire week cos you thought I’d hurt to walk?” Mikey reminisced. Gerard only sighed.

“Okay, so one time I was a saint. Since you were five, what have I done that was at all redeeming?” Gerard’s voice was flat. He didn’t want to have this conversation, because Mikey always won it. He didn’t feel like talking anymore, or eating. He pushed his salad away and looked up slightly, his vision of the younger Way blocked only by a few loose strands of hair.

“Gerard, you’re always there for me–”

“No. You’re always there for me. You’re the one who has to cancel his weekend plans because his big brother, the art-fag, is too afraid of needles. You’re the one who turns down prom dates because I’m not going. You’re the fucking brother of the year and I almost got us killed this morning. How am I there for you… you’re there for me.” Mikey sighed, standing up and walking over to Gerard.

“Hey,” he said to the older Way. “Hey, turn around, face me,” and he hit Gerard’s arm as he sat on the bench next to his older brother. Gerard slowly turned, his eyes still narrowed in frustration. Mikey put a hand on his shoulder.

“You remember… ah,” Mikey sighed, his eyebrows creasing together in frustration. “God, dad called. Last Sunday. It was, I don’t know, three in the morning and we were up and Dracula was on and Dad called.” Gerard sat up slightly at this, nodding.

“Yeah, Dad never calls. Of course I remember.”

“Well, God Gee, you know how much I miss him. You know… I never spent time with him, when I had the chance, even when he wanted to I’d rather be out with my friends… And, so, when he left I was like, ‘Fuck. I’ve taken this man for granted and he’s gone now, and what does that mean? Will I ever get to see him again?’ Well he never comes around anymore, he’s so busy with work and you know how he was gonna come visit me, and we were gonna have a day, where we went out and did the shit I never wanted to do, but…”

Mikey’s eyebrows were furrowed and his voice became bitter. “He called me up and cancelled. ‘Work got in the way, son. I’m sorry, I know you miss me, but I’ll have to postpone again’. Again, he couldn’t make it, and I just–” 

Mikey’s fingers clenched into fists and he sighed, leaning forward slightly so his forehead was pressed against Gerard’s shoulder. The older Way’s arm reached up and wrapped around his younger brother. “I couldn’t stop crying. It was fucking three in the morning and I was just screaming and you were there, and you let me scream and cry and you just… you never once tried to stop me. You just let me go and God, it’s nice to have a brother like you Gerard because you get me. You get that sometimes, I don’t want to be told ‘It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay’ because it won’t. I guess, just… thank you for that.”

Mikey leaned up, his face once again void of nearly all emotion. His voice was solid and monotone the next time he spoke, “Thank you. I guess.”

Gerard nodded, and let go of the blonde boy. “Yeah. I just want you to have a life, Mikes. I feel like I take up most of it.” Mikey almost smirked at this.

“Yeah, you do, asshat. But whatever. Pete wants my ass anyway, he’ll wait for me,” Mikey joked.

And Gerard laughed. He really did love his brother.


	3. Part Three

"…and maybe, you know, the mafia, or– or like, an evil motor scooter or something!"

To be completely honest, Frank had tuned Brendon out about a year and a half ago (or so it seemed, as the day dragged on, that he'd been trapped in the hell that was Belleville High for longer than the measly eight hour requirement), and his attention was truly only diverted from thinking about completely Brendon-irrelevant things when he heard said boy say something about puppies.

Well to be completely honest, he had said "pup punk", and it had been a complete accident, but Frank wasn't paying nearly enough attention to that because he had squealed at the word pup itself, swiveling around to Brendon, interrupting his monologue of, "Oh, wait, I didn't mean that, I meant pop punk," with a girlish shriek.

"Where?" he inquired frantically, and Brendon jumped, before eyeing Frank strangely. One eyebrow rose up over his thick-rimmed glasses and he let out a noise of confusion.

"Where what?" Frank's smile drooped and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"The puppies, uh-duh." Frank rolled his eyes and Brendon blinked at him.

"No, pop punk like the music genre. I fucked up. No puppies, calm thyself," Brendon said, arms out and gesturing for Frank to take a deep breath. Frank just glared at the floor.

"Oh. Yeah," he said awkwardly, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck. "I like puppies."

"No shit?" Brendon laughed and reached up, resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “It’s kinda cute, but don’t spaz yourself to death.” Brendon’s eyes gleamed and he gave Frank a lopsided smile, before removing his hand and continuing to walk with the slightly older boy down the school’s nearly once again empty hallway.

Frank blushed and was about to say something like, “Thanks, I guess,” but he didn’t quite get his breath of air out before Brendon had returned to his previous monologue over things Frank had no idea about, whatsoever. 

So his thoughts wandered back into themselves and he was perfectly content that way, having tuned Brendon out almost completely, before he heard the younger boy say something like, “…even Gerard, although I doubt it,” and Frank stopped, going, “Wait, what?”

“I said everyone goes to prom. Maybe even Gerard, but I doubt it,” Brendon repeated, looking at Frank strangely once more. “Hey, dude, you okay?”

“Gerard has a brother, right?” Brendon, a look of concern still vague on his face, nodded.

“Yes, and why is that relevant?”

“Skinny kid, right? Likes Anthrax, tall fucker, with the dipshit glasses?” And Brendon nodded once more, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Why, did he talk to you today, or something?” Frank shook his head, but he had an expression of complete realization etched into his features.

“Dude, he almost brained me with the door this morning!” Frank exclaimed. Brendon cocked an eyebrow, mouth set in a straight line.

“And you’re proud of this why?” Brendon inquired. Frank snorted.

“M’not, but I mean. Heck. I actually know who you’re talking about for once, kinda. I even saw Gerard this morning too.” Brendon looked surprised by that. “What?” Frank asked, coming out of his excited haze and back into the reality that was Belleville High’s barren hallways and a skinny boy with suspenders looking at him as if he’d resurrected Jesus Christ himself.

“No one actually sees Gerard,” Brendon spat, and then, “He’s fucking legendary for being the most invisible fuck on the planet, I mean… wow, what. He’s kinda antisocial, um; I think I’ve seen him once in the two years I’ve been here. Once,” Brendon repeated. Frank looked lost.

“He was here this morning, and skinny Anthrax kid was dragging him by the wrist or something. And he like, smiled at me.” Brendon’s jaw dropped open, and Frank let out a frustrated, “What? M’not lying!”

Brendon gave him the “Really?” face, the one Frank knew all too well from his mother, and said, “I didn’t say that.” Brendon shook his head, repeated his words, and then, “But like, smiled? Gerard doesn’t smile, or actually let people touch him, or be seen anywhere at school or–” Brendon cut himself off before continuing. “Dude, I think you witnessed, like, a fucking miracle or something.”

Frank truly was lost, but he just shrugged, and nodded along with Brendon’s disbelief. “Maybe,” he offered. “Anyway, he didn’t seem weird. Yeah, that’s a lie; he was weird, but I never would have guessed he was like, famous for being King Reject or something.”

“Well I’m about to have a seizure because I’m pretty sure what you just told me is the equivalent of Christ’s resurrection, and um, wow. I need to sit down, or something.” Brendon put his hand to his head dramatically and gripped onto Frank, looking as if he was going to legitimately faint.

Frank thought this was all entirely ridiculous because Gerard really didn’t seem that weird, and who the heck cared anyway, because he really didn’t. So he just rolled his eyes at Brendon, playfully shoved him off and said, “Don’t you think it’s a bit rude?”

Brendon just stated, “Dude, you don’t even know him. You wouldn’t know.”

And Frank said, “Well, would you?”

Brendon had nothing to say to that. The boys spent the rest of the walk out of Belleville High in silence.

•••••

“M’home,” Frank grumbled, sliding in the door and up to the kitchen counter, looking across to his mother. She turned to him and smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing.

“Hi, dear. How was your first day at your new school?” Frank just shook his head before dropping it down onto the table.

“Weird, boring, school,” Frank monotoned. His mother sighed, but the now slightly faked smile still played at her lips.

“Well, did you meet anyone?” Frank nodded, groaning into the table.

“Yes,” he told the kitchen table. “His name’s Brendon ‘n he’s like, taller than me and wears big glasses and talks all the time, but he’s cool. He’s nice, well; he’s also the only person who talked to me today. Oh, and he dresses… interesting.” 

Linda set her hands down on the table, one on top of the other. “Well, that’s good. Does he seem to like you? Are you going to become friends?” Her tone was hopeful. Frank nodded against the kitchen counter.

“We’re friends, yeah.” Linda refrained from letting out a shriek, and instead rested her palm against Frank’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“That’s great, dear,” she enthused. Frank just shrugged.

“I was late to school today,” he said, and his mom let out a loud laugh.

“That’s actually hysterical,” she said, but Frank replied, “I wasn’t done,” and she shut up.

“I escaped near death,” he added. Linda looked on in confusion.

“What?” Frank just shrugged once more, and sighed.

“It’s weird. It’s not St. Mary’s though.” Frank sat up and stretched out, giving a glance to his mother before yawning, “No homework. I’m gonna sleep, or something. Moving is tiring.” Linda looked concerned for only a second before her lips pulled tight into a smile and she nodded.

“Should I wake you up for dinner?” Frank just shook his head.

“If I’m hungry enough, I’ll get up. Love you, ma.” He nodded to her before getting up and dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

Moving was tiring, but he wasn’t tired. Not really.

•••••

Gerard had told Mikey before lunch was over that he could sense a breakdown coming. Mikey had nodded, plain and simple, and patted his brother on the back before drawling out, “G’luck. Bye,” and that was it. So he really shouldn’t have been surprised.

He really wasn’t. He blamed his 7th period teacher for everything, including making him so worried about his AG test that he wasn’t paying attention to his brother, –the one who could be a psychopath sometimes¬– saying he was going to, at some point later in the day, go crazy again. So Mikey huffed as he got into Gerard’s beat up car, and only avoided promising God a blowjob at the thought that his brother didn’t look (so hopefully he hadn’t gone) off the deep end just yet.

“Mikey I’m going to cry,” Gerard sighed, and Mikey immediately took back his offer of oral sex to the Lord. Fucked. That’s what Mikey was, he was screwed.

“Please don’t,” Mikey said; because he never really did know what to say, he couldn’t deal with his own problems 90% of the time. Gerard turned to him, eyes heavy. Mikey internally cringed. This wasn’t good.

“Yeah.” Gerard swallowed thickly and Mikey could actually feel his soul leaving his body in a last ditch effort to avoid his brother’s pain. He hated seeing Gerard like this.

“Gee?” Mikey said, voice soft with concern. Gerard shrugged.

Gerard hated everything and its grandmother, truly. The entire ride home through traffic and past the comic book store he wished he could afford to go in was certainly not helping; neither was the tension literally radiating off his brother, who looked as if he was trying to become frozen solid, he appeared as if he had stopped breathing in effort to turn to stone, or something, and that just made Gerard feel worse.

So Gerard stumbled into his house, stopping briefly to read the note his mother had left on the fridge which read, “Week trip, won’t be back till Monday,” before shuffling off to his basement/cave/home-thing, a heavy sigh leaving his body along with all hope for anything he’d ever had, ever.

Mikey was planning on staying as long as he could in Gerard’s car, avoiding his brother. This made him feel very much like an asshole but he truthfully didn’t know if Gerard even wanted to be helped, so how was he supposed to try.

So it was a lame excuse, but Mikey was never the best one in the face of family drama, clearly, and so he sank back in the pleather seat and looked out the window, mid-sigh and almost feeling less bad.

Almost, mind you; he never did finish that sigh because Gerard was screaming now, loud enough for old Mrs. Haberdashery, or whatever the fuck, to hear and call the police again, and for all Mikey knew Gerard could be dead, so he got out of the car and slunk into the house, miserably, hating himself all the while for being a shithole of a brother.

By the time he had reached claustrophobia-land, Gerard’s screaming had stopped and he finished that sigh with a not so subtle undertone of relief, before knocking on the door and calling, “Gerard, you okay?”

It was officially the stupidest question Mikey had ever asked and that probably made him more of an asshole; he was still going to leave when Gerard responded with something that was either, “Fine,” or “Go away,” but he couldn’t. Morally, or something.

“I am officially the worst brother in existence,” Mikey moaned to himself, before pushing the door to Gerard’s paranoia-ensuing safe haven open, revealing the horrors to himself for the second time that day.

He needed to stop being such a whiner, honestly.

“Gerard, hey–?” Mikey looked around the room in extreme confusion because he could honestly not find his brother anywhere, and the living space was as small as a closet. Mikey wondered briefly if the screams had been due to that one growling sock eating Gerard alive, or something, before he spotted him on the floor underneath a heavy lump of comforter and maybe a few shirts that hadn’t been washed in a year or five.

Gerard’s “go away” sounded more like “get me laid” due to comforter voice-muffilization and Mikey almost laughed but he didn’t; he sighed big and loud and heavy and sat down on Gerard’s bed, and said, “No, I won’t, come here,” to the lump on the floor that was his older brother.

The lump shrugged, then rustled, and finally Gerard’s face emerged. He took one look at Mikey before fucking bawling, and Mikey’s eyes were sad as he watched his brother on the floor, red-eyed and hiccupping and trying to say something, although it went clear past Mikey because he didn’t speak emotion, really. Most of the time, anyway.

So he slipped down off the bed and onto the disgusting, rank clothes-covered floor and he pushed the comforter off his brother, putting his arms in its place and leaning into Gerard and letting out a shaky sigh because oh, god, he was going to start crying too and then he really would be truly useless.

“Shh, Coffee Bean. Gee, it’s okay, Hun, I’m here,” and Mikey really didn’t know what to say, because what even, did he just call his brother a coffee bean, and then Hun, oh god. Gerard only clung harder to Mikey though, so he figured that was a good thing, maybe? But he really didn’t know, and he was about to start crying himself out of stress, and… augh.

“Gerard, I got you, okay? It’s okay, it’s okay I’m right here,” Mikey said, softly, unsure if he was actually helping. Gerard looked up, sad hazel eyes shaking slightly, scared as they took in Mikey’s expression.

“I’m afraid,” Gerard whimpered, and Mikey said, “I know, it’s okay, I got you,” and rubbed his hand up and down Gerard’s back and hoped somehow this was helping, because it helped him when Gerard did it, so heck.

“You’re crying,” Gerard sniffled out, between soft sobs, and Mikey reached up and touched his fingers to his cheek and sure enough, Gerard was right. Shit.

“It’s okay,” Mikey said, and pet Gerard’s hair down. “I’ll be… okay. Let’s worry about you, okay? Wanna get up, get some coffee or something?” Gerard shook his head.

“Mom’s gone ‘till Monday,” Gerard said, then, “What is our family, Mikes? What are we anymore?”

And Mikey pressed his face into Gerard’s shoulder and let out a heavy sob, and they really were both crying in the middle of the tiniest room in the house, and the claustrophobia wasn’t even bothering Mikey anymore.


	4. Part Four

Frank Iero did not know, when that morning he had slipped his tie through the loop, kissed his mother on the cheek, and half-carelessly driven himself to school, that his day was going to be interesting. These were the kind of things that Frank never knew– he never found himself caring about the what ifs in life, nor was he much too concerned about the hows or whys. 

So when he shuffled himself into 4th period world history, walking right by the slightly familiar lanky boy sat on the desk right next to his, he didn’t give him one single thought. He just slumped himself down into the crap plastic chair, crossing his arms along the desk and resting his chin upon his upturned palm, prepared to be bored into sleep, such was the day before. He probably would have been, too, if it weren’t for the words of interruption coming from his left side.

“He-e-ey, short stuff.” Frank blinked, raised his head and looked around in confusion for the voice that was seemingly directed at him. He heard a short whistle coming from the same direction and turned to face the boy beside him. Oh.

The boy was indeed familiar, and it took Frank a while before realizing it was the same kid from the office yesterday. He strained his memory back to Brendon’s words, trying to remember the kid’s name. Fuck, what was it? Matt, or Michael… Mickey?

“Mikey!” Frank exclaimed, and upon realization that he had just given outburst to the entire class and not just in his head, clamped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. 

“That would be me,” the tall, blonde boy said. His legs were crossed as he sat atop his desk, watching Frank. “What’chya doin’?” The boy leaned in towards Frank, expressionless as he took in the younger one’s features. He popped his gum. “You’re kinda cute,” he slurred, sitting back, “for a catholic boy, anyways.”

Frank squeaked, and could feel his face heat up at the boy’s words, but not finding the ability to look anywhere but the kid’s face, instead took in his appearance.

He was tall, limbs lanky and folded awkwardly on his desk. He wore a loose muscle tee with the phrase “too young to give a duck”, one biker’s glove on his right hand, and shock-red skinnies with the knees missing. His hair was dirty blonde with bleached tips, choppy in the back though some of it hung gelled and out of place in his muddy, hazel eyes. He had a very defined jaw and expressionless face, and a sharp nose of which the same glasses of the day prior sat askew.

This observation finally triggered a thought other than, “what”, from Frank, a thought that just so happened to be exactly, “You almost killed me yesterday!”

Mikey blinked. “With the door...?” Frank moaned miserably. A raised eyebrow was all he got in response.

“You’re the new kid,” Mikey finally said. It wasn’t in any way a question but Frank still nodded, eyes still wide with the memory of near death. “Real cute for a Catholic boy,” Mikey added with a purr, and then, “Oh. Sorry about my blatant homosexuality. I realize that I’m going to hell, I just don’t care anymore.”

Mikey’s face hardened with each word and Frank paled, stuttering out a, “N-no, I’m not– I–”

Mikey let out a grunt, but his eyebrows unfurrowed somewhat. “Teasing,” he exasperated. “You’re sure one strung up motherfucker. What did those priests do to you at that school?” And then Mikey became silent for a second, eyes widening in what Frank could only assume was amusement. “Never mind, don’t tell me. Keep your dirty little secrets, those I don’t need to know.”

Frank decided that this would be a good time to attempt a response, but Mikey never let him. “So, tell me about yourself,” and this wasn’t a question either. The words were drawled out and Frank was paying nearly too much attention to the tone of them to even realize he had been asked a question.

“I– I don’t… Sixteen, um… vegetarian, dogs–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there Einstein! You’re making so much sense, it’s just too hard to follow.” Frank blushed at Mikey’s sarcasm. “So you have sixteen vegetarian dogs, continue?”

“No, I am sixteen, as of October 31st, anyway. I’m vegetarian, and I like dogs.” Mikey just stared at Frank. “What?”

“You were born on Halloween,” Mikey monotoned. “So cool,” and Frank couldn’t tell if he was actually being sincere. “Continue, though.”

“Uh…” Frank didn’t remember having to go through this initiation process with Brendon. “I like Black Flag, play guitar, and smoke chronically… oh, and I love horror movies. That’s…” Frank attempted to think of anything else interesting about himself, but came up blank. “That’s about it.”

“Great so my brother will love you,” Mikey intoned, words rushed. “Okay well I’m Michael ‘Mikey’ James Way, and you are Frank Anthony Iero Jr.” Frank gaped at the older boy. “What? I’m a Way. We know things. No biggie?” Mikey waited for Frank’s response.

“Ah, oh… okay?”

“So, Iero,” Mikey drawled, ignoring the younger boy’s noises of confusion. “Lunch is in,” and he checked the clock across the classroom, “ten minutes. Sit with me.” No a question. 

Frank blinked. “B-but, I’m– I can’t. I’m sitting with Bren–”

“You sat with tall, dork, and handsome yesterday, right?” Frank nodded. “Well, Baby Bren can wait. Today you are mine.” Frank ignored the slightly disturbed shiver that coursed through him at Mikey’s words. Maybe Brendon was right; the Ways really were fucking weird.

 

“Okay…?” Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed at Frank’s expression, and he sighed, slumping down off his desk and into his chair, expression if only the slightest bit caring towards the younger boy.

“Hey, no. I don’t wanna scare you,” and he sat back, exasperated. “I just– I’m sorry, or whatever.” He let out a ruff bark that Frank supposed was a more humorless laugh. “I dunno, you’re cool. You like Black Flag, and you smoke, so you aren’t a pansy. You play guitar, that’s sick. I play bass.” Mikey shrugged. “I don’t have friends,” he said to Frank. “I’m sixteen n’ a half, and I have a senior year brother who should be in college by now but is too dumb to do math, and he drinks so I drink. I have daddy issues, and I play way too many video games. I’m not okay, or whatever.”

Frank really didn’t know what to do with all of this information. He wasn’t sure if this would be a good time for him to as well insert his entire life story; he was sure he didn’t want to end up crying in front of this guy, or anything. So he really wasn’t planning on saying anything, until, “I have no dad, not anymore, and we can’t afford milk.” Mikey looked up in confusion and Frank felt exactly the same, on the inside.

“What?”

“Well, you were saying how you weren’t okay, right? And you got daddy issues, and drinking shit, well…” Frank trailed off, sighing as his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I don’t have a dad anymore, I mean I do, but not when I come home from school, or nothing like that. So I get the daddy issues thing. Yeah, ‘n sometimes we’re too poor to afford milk, cos my mom spends too much money on the least important shit, like my education–” Frank cut himself off with a snort, “–an’, like a car, and shit. And, you know, I’m really grateful, but she’s just dumb with money and I think I realize it more than she does. So I guess we’re not okay either…” Frank shrugged. 

“I guess we’re not okay together, then,” Mikey added, the corner of his mouth tipping up, and Frank didn’t have to know him for more than a day to tell that smile was something the kid didn’t do much often.

•••••

Sure, Frank thought, Mikey was actually a pretty okay dude –after you got over the initial sugarbomb mixed with bored old math instructor that his personality was akin to– but he most certainly did not expect to find himself in the middle of his room, changing into normal people clothes because he was actually going to the kid’s house. Frank was almost reluctant because despite Mikey being pretty awesome (they had talked through lunch, and Frank felt almost bad for abandoning Brendon until he realized the kid was nowhere to be seen, anyway), he was a bit of an handful on sight, and now Frank was about to endure meeting Gerard, who he’d heard straight from the brother of the damn horse’s mouth was a bit of a… well, dicksmack. At least Frank thinks that was the word Mikey had used to describe his older brother.

“I’m so glad you’re going to a friend’s house,” Linda had said when he’d told her, which was the first thing he had done upon walking into his house. Except that upon leaving, she had begun to nag her son about dinnertime, curfew, “Don’t overstay your welcome, Frankie, don’t get into an accident, and call me before you’re coming home!”

“Yeah, ma,” Frank sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was now in what he would categorize as ‘normal’ clothes¬– if his black muscle tee, black skinnies with the knees gone, and black beat up Chucks were to be considered normal by anyone but him.

“Well anyway, I’m happy you have two new friends now!” Then Linda frowned. “This is a different friend, right?”

“Mom! I’m leaving now,” Frank grunted, stepping through the open doorway. “See, I’m outside now. Can’t hear you, la la la, bye mom!” and he spun on his heel, making a point to book it to his car before he was harassed any further by motherly love.

The instant he was off the road he pulled a pack from his glove compartment, placing a cigarette between his lips and holding it to the flame of his lighter until the cherry burned red. He breathed out and sighed, tossing the pack onto the passenger seat and placing both hands on the wheel, already lost in his thoughts.

•••••

 

Gerard most certainly expected, when he had woken up that morning, that Mikey would still be taking up the majority of the bed next to him (because although Mikey was small, he had no awareness of personal space, nor did he care). But when he threw an arm over and yawned, “G’morning,” he was not met with a response.

Gerard sat up and looked around in confusion until he spotted a note taped to where Mikey’s presence should have been. The note simply read, “Sorry– Mikes <3”. Gerard grunted, crumpling the note up into a paper ball and tossing it carelessly in which direction he hoped his trashcan was.

“Traitor,” he muttered, and yawned again. His eye caught the blaring 10:27 AM blinking red on his alarm clock and it was no wonder anymore why Mikey was missing, because school had started hours ago.

Even though Gerard had begged (okay, more like demanded) his kid brother to stay home with him for fear of having a mental breakdown, and Mikey’s exact words had been, “Yeah, Gee. I’m right here. I’ll stay right here.”

“Really traitor,” Gerard added aloud, and he couldn’t even be bothered that it didn’t make any sense because he was tired and needed a drink. So he swung one arm over his bed and buried it in the pile of absolute disgust and not at all clean clothes that littered his floor and, when he could not find any of his three precious baby vodkas (because Mikey must have taken them again, Gerard refused to believe his room was really that messy), he pulled himself back up and collapsed onto his bed, sleep dragging him down once more within seconds.

•••••

When Mikey came home he half expected his brother to be up and about– mind you, up and about for Gerard was ass planted on the couch watching Bela play Drac with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He even hoped (not expected, hoped) that maybe Gerard had gone out for a change, instead of locking himself up once more in the dank cavern he liked to call his room.

Of course, no such luck.

So when Mikey traipsed through the empty living room, Frank high in mind, he thought that his brother had to at least be up and in his room, bent over his drawing board or god forbid drinking again. Anything involving Gerard awake was a better option than him sleeping, because Gerard slept as dead as a rock and Mikey would not have his brother being an introverted creeper in the basement, not when a prospective friend was just around the corner.

“Gerard,” Mikey groaned as he trudged down the stairs. “Company in like, twenty. Get your ass up now!” He stopped in front of the door to Hell and sighed. This would be the sixth time in two days he had to go into the cave of horrors, and probably not the last. He pushed his way into Gerard’s room, expecting his brother dead at the worst, and upon finding him once again in a bundle of comforter on the floor, snoring loudly, almost gave a sigh of relief.

But he didn’t. 

Mikey stepped into Satan’s literal home and nudged the snoring lump with his boot, giving an audible whine when Gerard didn’t move. He crouched down next to his brother, one hand on the older boy’s shoulder, and said, “Gee, don’t do this to me.”

He knew that wasn’t quite fair, except that it kind of was and Gerard was dead to the world anyway so it didn’t really matter. But he reached around the sleeping lump that was his brother, pulling him up by the shoulders and hoping to jostle him into consciousness.

“Ugh, you reek, Gee. God, take a shower once in your life,” Mikey groaned. Gerard stirred, and upon realizing he was being touched by an undistinguishable source, began to flail helplessly.

“Gerard. Gee! It’s just Mikes,” Mikey sighed, and Gerard blinked, his vision zoning in on Mikey.

“Oh, God I thought you were trying to murder me,” Gerard spat. “Don’t do that. And stop touching me,” he hissed, yanking his arm away from Mikey.

Mikey’s hand was still held out awkwardly, stiff with shock as if he had just been burned, and he sighed, slumping down next to the very pissy Gerard who was shuffling about in an attempt to untangle himself from his comforter. “You used to let me touch you all the time,” he said softly.

Gerard stopped shuffling about, turning to glare at Mikey. “Well I don’t like it,” Gerard says. “I don’t like people being close to me.”

“But only sometimes,” Mikey shot back. “Yesterday you didn’t care.”

“You want the truth? Yesterday I was too far gone to care.”

“You used to take me around all the time, and when we were little you’d hold my hand and guide me everywhere. You don’t like me touching you now. You don’t let mom hug you, and dad–” Mikey stopped, and looked down, finally bringing his arm to his chest. “Just fucking get in the shower, you’re disgusting. I don’t know if I’m sitting on a shirt or a patch of mold, and it’s so gross.”

Gerard looked almost pained for a second, but he spat back, “Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to company.”

“You will be extraordinary to company, dicksmack. I don’t have fucking friends because of you!” Mikey growled. He really didn’t want to have this fight with his brother; they were both too damaged to endure it again.

“Mikey if you fucking wanted friends, you’d have friends.” Oh, no. No. No, Gerard did not just say that, because Mikey was two seconds away from tears and if Gerard didn’t shut up now– “Maybe you don’t have friends because you don’t deserve them, did you ever think of that? Maybe no one wants to be your friend!”

Mikey was officially bawling. Gerard’s anger lasted for only a second longer before he slumped down into a pile of regret next to Mikey, reaching out to the younger boy. “Oh, no, Mikes. I’m sorry. I’m shit, I’m worthless, I didn’t mean it. God, Mikey, I’m so sorry…” and he extended his hand out to Mikey, who only slapped it away.

“No! You don’t like it, remember? You don’t like touching people, why should I be the exception?” Mikey pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Gerard, one hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Just fucking wash up, and be nice to Frank.”

“Anything, Mikes, just please forgive– wait, Frank?”

But Mikey had already left the room, and not thirty seconds later there was the unmistakable sound of a loud door slam.

Gerard was fucked. Officially fucked.


	5. Part Five

Gerard stood in front of the cracked old door to his brother’s bedroom, eyeing the wooden ingress– the one that was covered with a myriad of old, peeling stickers of band logos or sad, humorless phrases that Gerard had begged his brother not to litter the door with, because, “It’s a work of art, Mikey! You don’t slab some dumb, ‘fuck the victors’ or whatever your lyrics, I don’t care, get the Anthrax symbol off your door!” or the split that ran through the center of the old wood because of events unspoken.

None of this was in Gerard’s higher concerns for the moment though, because the one currently reigning his anxiety was whether or not the younger Way would actually forgive him this time, because he was sure he’d gotten lucky the last several.

“Mikey?” he called, unsure. “I’m sorry,” and he leaned his head against the door for he knew it wouldn’t be coming open any time soon. He received no response, and continued, “I mean it, though. I know sorry s’all I ever say, but I mean it. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Go away, Gerard.” 

The older boy sighed, ignoring his brother’s words. “No, lemme in, or something. I wanna apologize to your face, not your dumb door.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” was the younger one’s reply. Gerard huffed under his breath, one hand slipping down to the doorknob.

“I will come in there, Mikey, I’m fucking serious.” This was a real threat to the younger Way who was unexplainably annoyed at the mere thought of anyone other than himself in his room. This taunt, however, did not get the normal response. It received but a sigh, and then, “Fucking fine.”

And Gerard opened the surprisingly unlocked door to his younger brother who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the floor. Throughout the day his face had accumulated more loose curls to hang in it and he sighed heavily, blowing at his hair in slight aggravation. The blonde boy didn’t look particularly mad to Gerard though; mostly his expressionless face just read defeat, and that made the older boy feel worse.

“Hey, no…” Gerard made an attempt at comfort. Mikey didn’t look up, seemingly captivated in his sharpied-up old grey Chucks. “I’m–”

“Yup,” Mikey sighed. “Sit down, Gerard, please. Let’s go through this once more. You beg, and plead, and I cry, and we’re family. And it sucks, you know that? It sucks. You suck.” 

Gerard was almost convinced that the instance prior had left Mikey officially done with any and all connection to the older Way, but the blonde boy soon muttered, “Fuckin’… like a vampire, dumbshit,” and Gerard know all was forgotten, for now.

“I am not,” Gerard retorted calmly, moving to sit next to the younger boy on his bed. Mikey looked up, humor almost evident in his features. Almost, but it was clearly heard in his tone with his next words.

“If your obvious suckiness wasn’t proof enough– you like, live in the dark, Gerard. I actually once heard you hiss when sun touched you; and you put up your fucking arms all, “oh, shit” like in the one infomercial where the guy’s sunglasses fly off. That’s another thing: you wear sunglasses, even inside. You are pale as shit naturally– we’re fucking Italian why don’t you tan, Gee?” The younger boy only paused to take a breath. “Every time you bleed you kinda just stare at it like, “oh, yeah, I’m getting off on that,” and it’s fuckin’ weird. You are obsessed with Dracula; you draw vampires all the time, too. You wear all black, you don’t eat fucking garlic, and the mirror practically repels you. I think that’s proof enough that you’re a vampire.”

“I’d have to be attractive to be a vampire. And thin, I think it’s a requirement that vampires are thin,” Gerard moped. Mikey rolled his eyes at the older Way, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

“Guess what, Gee? You are not fat. You are not overweight. You are not chubby, even. You have a fucking fat head, though, sometimes, but you’re not visibly– whatever, you’re practically pudgy but that doesn’t matter because pudgy equals fluffy and fluffy equals happiness. You fit into my skinnies, therefore you are not fat. As for the attractive thing– well, I am your brother. I am not allowed to have, nor want to have an opinion on whether you’re “hot” or not. But you aren’t fuckin’ ugly, so shush.” Gerard groaned, falling backwards on the bed at his brother’s blatant lies. Well, they weren’t lies to anyone but Gerard.

“You’re just saying all that because you have to,” Gerard huffed. Mikey sighed. “You know, I have fat cheeks and the color of my eyes equals like, mud. Gross mud. Also my nose is stupid and my mouth does that one thing… you know, the thing?” and Gerard pressed his face forward in Mikey’s direction. “See? Crooked, or whatever.”

“Get away,” Mikey flailed slightly, one hand up to barricade himself from his brother’s advancing face. “Weirdo. And no, you don’t have fat cheeks. You have a rounded face, and your nose is all cute and pointy like what, how does it do that so shaddup about your nose.” Gerard grumbled under his breath, leaning back and going slightly cross-eyed to see if he could notice what Mikey was talking about. 

“Stop,” Mikey intoned. “Your eyes do look dumb when you do that. But for your information, they’re the same color as mine, and I was once told by this one chick, that my eyes were, “…like if honey color was a diamond but then not a diamond, like, you know? Uh, this russet-y potato thing, but it’s totally cool, like green and shit”, and I think she was just trying to get in my pants but after the potato comment that suggestion was completely lost to me. Anyway, that might not have been the best description–” The younger Way was cut off by a laugh. “Shut up! Okay, sometimes Gee, when you’re mad, they get this like, dark brown; it’s kinda creepy. But when you’re happy they’re, ugh, green…” Gerard laughed again. “I’m serious, shut the fuck up! Go find a girl to be all cheesy about your damn eyes, that’s not a brother’s job and I wasn’t raised in Incest-Is-Totally-Normal-Here-Land. And forget about your god damned crooked mouth because A, that’s not your fault and B, it gives you a crooked smile and that’s you and I’m gonna shut up now, and don’t expect anything nice to come from my mouth in the next ten years because that was all very creepy and weird and I’d shove you to get out but you’d yell at me again and–”

Mikey abruptly stopped rambling and frowned at the older boy. “Sorry.”

“No,” Gerard said, and then, “Ugh, no, that’s fine. I’m a fucking asshole, right, but I’m showered cos you damn told me to and your friend is gonna be here in what, five? The kid you’d bet I’d fuck yeah that’ll be fun but beside the point, I came in here to fucking hug you.”

“Are ya drunk? Or stoned?” Mikey asked, disbelieving. Gerard shook his head.

“Honest,” he replied. “I wanna try to being a weirdo, so hug me, or whatever.” 

Mikey looked about ready to cry. He instead chose to furrow his brows, a skeptical expression quite readable on his face. “Are you sure? You don’t wanna start out with like, patting me on the shoulder or like poking my arm or something?” Gerard grunted.

“No. Come here,” he then whined, making ridiculous grabby hands at his younger brother. “I wanna fuckin’ hug.” So Mikey leaned in towards Gerard slightly, accepting the older boy’s awkward embrace.

“You have to hug back,” Gerard complained, and the younger complied.

“Wow you really did shower,” Mikey said. “You smell like artificial strawberry soap, not artificial strawberry booze.” Gerard laughed. “So is this hard for you, or something?” Gerard shrugged. “You can like, scream bloody murder at any time and I’ll let go.”

“No,” Gerard sighed, leaning in slightly more to his brother. “I am sorry. I had like a whole mental debate in the shower over whether I’d actually let myself to this. Like really, I’m sorry.”

“S’it bad for you? Like, awkward…” Mikey trailed off, and Gerard gave a laugh.

“No, it’s kinda weird, but kinda nice. When was the last time I hugged you sober… when I was what, nine?” Mikey laughed at that, monotone and humorlessly.

“Probably. We can stop?” Although Mikey did not honestly mind to be hugging his big brother, the hero of his childhood, for longer than a few seconds, he also didn’t want the older Way to end up traumatizing himself thanks to whatever weird reason Gerard had about him that made every little thing so hard.

“No,” was all Mikey received in reply. So they sat embracing, in silence.

Until the doorbell rang.

••••• 

When Frank had mentally listed all of the possibilities of awkward events occurring on point of Mikey opening the door to him, he had most certainly not taken into account the one that actually had. No, Frank wasn’t expecting at all the younger Way to open up the door with a disgruntled expression and hair every which way, the older of the two boys clinging desperately to the younger one. And he surely, most certainly did not expect the first words out of the blonde boy’s mouth to be, “Gerard, your boyfriend is here.”

“Uh, what?” Frank got out, at just about the time that the older boy had screamed, “No!” flailing about helplessly, letting go of the younger Way in the process before punching him on the arm.

“No need to overreact, Coffee Bean,” Mikey spat back, reaching up to rub at his sore arm. “This is Frank, by the way.”

“I’d gathered!” Gerard called from somewhere in the kitchen, where he’d shuttled himself off to for safety of his brother’s taunts. “Sorry, ignore the dicksmack,” he added. “I’m Gerard.”

“I am most certainly not the dicksmack, Mr. Let Me Wake My Brother Up At God Awful O’ Clock With The Loudest Moans In The World,” Mikey retorted. 

Frank didn’t know whether to laugh or be intimidated; he still didn’t know anything about the two strange Way boys– they seemed to bicker a lot. Frank figured this was a moot realization and shrugged to himself, before remembering the awkward situation the door had opened to and stuttering out, “Uh, sorry but was, I mean I– the door, and your brother– not interrupting…?”

Mikey blinked at him, and Gerard raised a curious eyebrow, until the older of the two let out a sharp laugh. Mikey turned to face his brother, confusion although not present, clearly evident to the older Way. “What?” Mikey intoned to Gerard, and the dark-haired boy laughed again, one hand clutching the kitchen counter as his eyes scrunched up at the corners, mouth pulling into a crooked smile.

“He like, thinks we fucked or something? No, kid,” Gerard said, and Frank blushed. That wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind but it was relieving to know that the Ways weren’t weird for another, less socially acceptable reason among the many others.

“Well, no–” Frank began, but Mikey cut him off.

“You can come in, you know,” the older boy monotoned, stepping away from the doorframe and letting the youngest through. Frank nodded and stepped in cautiously.

“So, Misfits? Coolness,” Mikey drawled, pointing with his middle finger at Frank’s Misfits muscle tank. Frank nodded.

“Yup,” he shrugged. Mikey regarded him with an indifferent sigh.

“Way different than those Catholic boy clothes you’re always wearing at school,” the younger Way added. Frank opened his mouth to respond something he hadn’t though of yet, but Gerard cut him off.

“You’ve got the Chucks on, from yesterday. Yeah, I remember cos they were so outta place,” Gerard reminisced. Frank cocked his head at the oldest boy, who then questioned, “Oh, we have like, booze, cigs, pie, do you need anything?”

“Gerard!” Mikey growled. “You don’t just ask someone if they want fucking alcohol or smokes upon arrival.” The blonde boy looked respectively mad until he added, jokingly, “You ease into that shit.” And he turned to Frank, “I know you’re veggie, I think we have something non-meat around here… Hey, come with!” Mikey turned around from waltzing toward the kitchen to Frank, who was set in place with the intent upon never moving a step closer into the Way house.

It wasn’t that Mikey or Gerard seemed mean, or even particularly threatening; Frank was only concerned from Brendon’s reasonable warning that the Ways were weirdos– the silent type of people who everybody knows but no one really likes. “Ah, okay,” Frank said, and sheepishly followed Mikey into the kitchen, where Gerard was sitting precariously cross-legged on the counter with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other– two items that seemed to have materialized out of thin air.

“We have,” and Mikey opened up the fridge and stuck his face very nearly inside, “like, ah… Gerard?” He turned to look over his shoulder at the older boy. “Do we have anything containing not meat?”

Gerard shrugged. “We have vodka, and Marlboros, and coffee,” he suggested, a helpful tone to his voice. Mikey narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“No, I mean food-wise. Don’t we still have–” and he cut himself off. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure we still have some frozen cheese pizza somewhere,” and he was halfway to reaching into the freezer before Frank interjected, embarrassed, “I’m lactose-intolerant.” 

“Ah,” the younger Way said, and his face fell. “Well… maybe we have poptarts? Oh, do those have milk… Gerard, help me here!” The eldest boy looked at the younger two and shrugged.

“We got whiskey and fags and mocha cappuccino,” he responded. “Honestly, I’m sorry,” he then added. Mikey narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“Why don’t you go buy something then, from the dumb corner market a block down?” he near-begged.

“Why don’t you?” Gerard spat back, sticking his tongue out. “I don’t wanna walk that far and–” But then he looked at Frank, who looked honestly remorseful for being such a weird eater and causing so much trouble, and he sighed. “Yeah, but I’m taking your friend with me,” he finally agreed, shooting his brother a crooked smirk.

Mikey pouted, and then threw his arms up in exasperation. “Fine, Gerard. Ugh, you’re the worst!” and he stormed off in which direction Frank did not know, for he was too damn confused with the situation at hand currently.

The Ways were fucking weird.

“C’mon, kid,” Gerard said, hopping off the counter, coffee somehow still intact in his mug. He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, which he stuck between his lips, and a black lighter.

“It’s cool cos I’m age-approved to buy these things,” he said, lighting up. “Like, I think I need more, anyway. I’d offer you one, but…” Frank just looked at him, blinking slowly. “Ah, you’re a kid. Anyway,” the older Way said, holding his arm out in a ridiculous gentleman gesture. “After you?”

And Frank really didn’t know what to think, at all, anymore.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little weird omg just ignore that and hopefully enjoy! ~xokilljoy

“So, what’s your preference?” Gerard’s gaze ran up the length of the younger boy’s body quickly before returning to his fingers, occupying himself once more with the cigarette that sat between them. He placed the cigarette between his lips and huffed out around it, shoving one hand into the pocket of the Anthrax sweatshirt he had stolen from Mikey previously. Frank stopped talking animatedly about some vague self-debate of Bela and Price, looking up at Gerard in confusion.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, eyebrows pushed together slightly as his eyes took in the older Way.

“You know,” the taller boy spat absentmindedly, cigarette now back between his fingers as his hand waved about, seemingly trying to conjure up from the air the words he was attempting at. “Pretty boys or pastel girls?”

“Oh, you mean my sexuality,” Frank guessed at, still eyeing Gerard but less in confusion and more in need of reassurance that he was correct at what the older boy’s question had been hinting at. Gerard nodded.

“Yeah, that, duh,” he said, more to himself, and then, looked at Frank expectantly.

“It’s supposed to be girls, you know…” and the younger boy trailed off, gesturing to himself. “Catholic and all that, proper like God wants me.”

“Supposed to be as it isn’t actually, or supposed to be as in…?” Gerard trailed off in slight incertitude. Frank just smirked at him, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his front pockets.

 

“Supposed to be,” he spoke suggestively, “as in supposed to be.” Upon seeing that he had successfully stumped the older boy, he added, “What about you?”

“My sexuality?” Gerard asked. Frank nodded curtly. “Well I recognize the definition of attractive on both genders, but I don’t really do the whole ‘touch’ thing. I’m kinda…” and he shrugged. “I guess I like ‘em both, boy and girls, but I don’t worry about it anyway.” Frank nodded again, seeming to know what Gerard was aiming at.

“So you don’t date, or nothing?” Frank asked innocently. Gerard nodded.

“I think I kissed a girl once in like, 3rd grade, before I got all haphephobic. But what about you, you’re supposed to like girls, right? Have their been any you’ve supposedly liked?” Gerard joked. Frank shook his head, looking down a bit.

“By the time my mom had decided I could parental-legally bring home a girl, I wanted to bring home a boy instead, so I kinda gave up on that. Oh, and then I was shucked away to Jesus Christ Almighty, and I learned that wanting a boyfriend was like, impure or some shit. So, you know, I’m supposed to like girls, but it’s easier to like nobody.” Gerard watched Frank’s face for the entirety of his small speech, curious to see if any of what Frank was saying had bothered the younger boy in some way, but he looked surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing.

“That kind of sucks, though,” Gerard voiced. Frank shook his head again.

“Nah, not too bad. Besides, I’ve had a lot bigger things to worry about lately.” Frank laughed nervously at that, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck.

Gerard was about to suggest that maybe what he had said was impolite when his gaze caught the imperfections littering Frank’s raised forearm. The scars were faded but only slightly, as if the cuts having caused them were about three weeks recent, so the lines, although deep, were more pink than red. Gerard frowned, fingers twitching slightly as he felt a strange want to trace them along Frank’s scars.

Frank, whose nervous laughter had died down a while ago, who hadn’t yet lowered his arm, looked at Gerard oddly. “Hey, you okay?”

Gerard only grunted in response, gripping the ends of his sweatshirt sleeve in nervousness, before his hand shot out awkwardly to grip at Frank’s wrist. Frank jolted in surprise but allowed his arm to be pulled down, still slightly concerned at Gerard’s behavior before he noticed that the sleeve of Gerard’s hoodie had slid up his arm, revealing angry red lines that stood out in surreal contrast to his vampiric pale skin. “Oh?” he muttered softly, before remembering the marks spread over his own skin. “Oh.”

Gerard’s fingers tightened slightly, sporadically, as if he was afraid of touching Frank, yet he didn’t let go of the younger boy’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Frank had been expecting pity but this wasn’t it. There was only experience in the older teen’s voice, and perhaps minute horror.

“It’s– I’m, I mean I–” Frank didn’t exactly know what to give in response to that, but Gerard had cut him off, startling him with one last, somewhat comforting squeeze to his wrist before he pulled his hand away, shoving it back into his sweatshirt’s front pocket. His sleeve had fallen back down again, and Frank lowered his arm to his side. The peculiar moment, if any, was lost by the older boy’s next words.

“Sorry, I never let you finish about Bela and Price but, we’re here,” and he gestured to a little store on the corner they were not more than ten feet from. “C’mon though, this guy Bob’s got the 4 to 9, and he’s pretty cool.”

Frank nodded bluntly, following Gerard into the small market. A bell above him clanged as they slipped through the doors and a man, who looked not a day over twenty, raised his head off the counter where he’d appeared to have been napping.

“Oh, Way,” he muttered, and then yawned. He blinked sharply before doing an almost comical double take at the older boy. “Wait, wait, I must still be dreaming. There’s not a chance in Hell you’re out of your fucking cave.” Gerard narrowed his eyes at the other man, before rolling them. He turned to Frank.

“Get whatever you want, kid,” he said softly. “My parents own an art gallery, somewhere up in New York… de la pretentious Garden of Eden with even more pretentious artwork plastered on the walls.” Frank raised an eyebrow. “Basically, we have money.”

“Well, I’m not really hungry,” Frank began, and then paled, eyes growing big. “I mean, I’m sorry because I never got to say anything, and then we were already halfway here and I really didn’t want to make you walk all this way or something but…” Gerard looked void of amusement. “Okay,” Frank sighed. “I’ll get some blueberry poptarts.”

“Thank you, dear, for helping my trip become more than all for naught,” Gerard purred, and then his attention was averted back to the man behind the counter. “Bob, my darling. Marlboros and a shot of rum.”

Bob grunted. “This ain’t a bar, Gerard, and you’re nineteen. No whiskey, no rum, no vodka, no nothing until I get ID proof. I’m not losing my job over you, hooligan,” but the man’s voice was full of something that sounded like friendly goading.

“Fine,” the older Way whined. “But I do want those smokes, I’m running out.” Bob grunted again, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, alright,” he sighed, slapping a pack of Marlboro Reds onto the counter. Gerard pulled out his wallet, in the process turning back to where he thought Frank was, but the younger teen was nowhere in sight. 

“Frank!” Gerard called bluntly. “Where’d he go…?”

Bob laughed. “Babysitting Mikey’s friends now?” he questioned, humored. Gerard shook his head.

“Nah,” he said, taking out a twenty from his wallet and laying it on the counter. “I mean, I guess… But he’s cool, so far. I mean, he likes Texas Chainsaw Massive Scare and you know I can’t even watch that without screaming like a five-year-old. Hardcore punk boy, except he’s Catholic.”

“That’s a downer,” Bob grinned. “I was about to say you should fuck him.”

Gerard glared. “You and Mikey both. Frank?” He frowned when he received no response. “God, where’d the kid go? This store’s like three square feet of toaster strudels and those bars that secretly make you gain weight… Be right back,” he said, glancing at Bob –who was still grinning, the bastard– before wandering the store in search of his younger brother’s newest friend.

“The heck you go?” he said when he found Frank wandering the third isle, idly chewing on his bottom lip– the pierced side, for fuck’s sake, Gerard thought. “And are you deaf?”

Frank looked up, a saddened expression on his face. “I don’t think they have blueberry,” he said wistfully. Gerard almost screamed, but settled for rolling his eyes near out of his head.

“I thought the ground had swallowed you up, dork,” he spat. “Jesus, don’t do that.”

Frank looked sad for .2 seconds longer before he let out an insanely feminine giggle, asking, “Why, were ya worried?” Gerard blinked.

“Not slightly,” he played back. Frank’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, and the younger boy let out another effeminate laugh.

“Well, you weren’t hungry anyway, right, and I got my smokes so…” Gerard sighed, running his hands down his face in frustration. “We can go home now, Jesus.”

Frank grinned –the little shit probably planned this entire thing, Gerard moped– and followed the older teen back to the front counter.

“Keep the rest,” Gerard whined, grabbing his pack of cigarettes from off the counter. “I don’t want to be bothered waiting for your slow ass to count out change.”

“This is a twenty,” Bob stated, one eyebrow raised and humor void in his expression. I’m not taking a twenty from you for a six dollar pack.”

He only received a, “You’re welcome!” in response as Gerard and the younger boy made their way out of the small store.

Bob rolled his eyes. The Ways were fucking weird.

•••••

“Honey, I’m home!”

Frank laughed under his breath as Gerard called out into the seemingly empty living room of the Way house. The older boy pulled the door shut behind him, turning to Frank and holding out the box of Marlboros. “Wanna smoke?” he asked casually, before turning away from the younger boy to pull off his sweatshirt.

He threw it on the chair next to him and looked back at Frank, who was still standing awkwardly with a pack of cigarettes placed in his palm. “Do you want one, really?” Gerard asked, reaching his arm up to grab the box back from Frank.

Frank didn’t say anything at first, but he slowly nodded, then mumbled a, “Sure, thanks.” Gerard only rolled his eyes.

“You’re kinda shy, dork, for someone who was talking all the way up and back home again,” the older teen pointed out, popping open the box and sliding two cigarettes out of it. He placed one between his lips and held the other out to Frank, who took it quickly, his face flushing.

“Sorry,” Frank breathed. “I’m really not, you know… awkward, I mean.” Gerard slipped a lighter from his pocket and held it up, lighting first his own smoke before leaning over, touching the end of it to Frank’s.

Frank let out what could only be described as the most girlish squeal ever for a boy to make and mentally face palmed at himself. Gerard let out a huff that Frank assumed was laughter, and he assumed that the older boy was now mocking him and wanted to be miles away by now, but his face was still .15 inches away from Frank’s, so the younger boy took this time to take in his features.

Gerard had the same color eyes as his brother, if not a bit more green, and his face was more rounded than sharp. His nose was turned up slightly and his mouth could only be described as crooked, for one side wasn’t even with the other. 

He really didn’t look much like Mikey in the long run, Frank thought. Gerard pulled away and, seemingly forgetting any of the actions prior, began walking to the kitchen before he was stopped by something that evidently he saw and Frank, who was still stood awkwardly in place in the living room, didn’t.

“Mikey!” he called, more out of shock but his voice was rough with something that sounded like discomfort. Frank furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion, before jogging up to the older Way, who was still standing in place staring into the kitchen.

Frank immediately regretted following Gerard as he noticed why the eldest boy had been shocked in the first place. Mikey, who was currently somewhat sprawled out up against the edge of the counter, retorted, “What?”

“Get– what– why…” Gerard trailed off, struggling for words before he finally settled to gesturing dramatically at the younger Way. Frank didn’t really have any time to register what Mikey was really attempting to do –although it looked as if he was trying to reach for something– because the younger boy was standing in the kitchen currently wearing a pink-checked miniskirt, which barely covered his ass and oh, God, the Ways were so fucking weird.

“I remembered that I left something up here,” Mikey gestured to the cabinet he was trying to reach at. “And fuck off, anyway, I look cute and it still fits.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Barely.” He made his way over to the younger Way, gripping him gently around the waist before planting him somewhere near Frank. Frank and Mikey both could see the obvious discomfort in the older boy’s eyes –not for his brother wearing a miniskirt, because Gerard could really care less at this point– but for having to come in contact with another being. Although Frank noticed one thing, that Gerard was much more comfortable touching his younger brother than he had been gripping Frank’s wrist earlier.

Mikey turned to Frank. “Hi,” he drawled. “Did you get anything to eat down at Bob’s place?”

“Firstly, it’s not Bob’s,” Gerard grunted, pulling out whatever Mikey had been attempting to reach from the cabinet. “Is this what you wanted?” he interrupted himself to ask his younger brother. Mikey nodded, taking the box of what looked like poptarts from ten years ago. Frank hoped it had something other than poptarts in it. “He just works there, and secondly,” Gerard continued, now moving to sit on the counter, “Frank wasn’t hungry, anyway.”

Frank blushed at that, placing his cigarette back between his lips so seemingly occupy himself with something. Gerard gave him an apologetic smile– Mikey looked as if he didn’t care at all.

“Hey, turn around, Mikes,” Gerard requested a bit later. Mikey narrowed his eyes at him.

“Why, so you can check out my ass?” he joked. Gerard groaned.

“Actually, yes, Mikey, because you know that’s my favorite thing to do– no, you fucking dork, so I can see if that skirt really does fit you anymore, because let me tell you it did not when you were all stretched out over that counter earlier, and is this really how you make friends Mikey, by seducing them in pink skirts?” Frank guessed that the expression on the younger Way’s face could be read as embarrassment, but he wasn’t sure. Mikey rolled his eyes and turned around, huffing out what suspiciously sounded like, “I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Gerard retorted. “Alright, I guess you could get a few more wears out of this if you stop fucking growing so tall, just don’t bend over or nothing lest it’s for Pete or somebody. That still doesn’t change the fact that maybe your new friend isn’t all that comfortable with boys in skirts.” Gerard’s tone didn’t hold anything accusatory; it only sounded like concern.

Frank shook his head, puffing out smoke around his cigarette. “It doesn’t bother me, dude. I mean, you look good– and I don’t mean that in a weird way,” Frank rushed, one hand out in case he needed to uselessly block himself from assertions, “but it looks natural on you, or something, I guess…” Mikey blinked at him, face void of any expression. Frank blushed then, and added, “Or not, you know, I’m sorry for sharing my opinion.”

“Thanks,” Mikey said, and his voice held sincerity. Frank started, turning his head more to face the younger Way. He was most certainly not expecting that. But Mikey continued his little speech with, “Well, you know I told ya how I don’t have many friends, and wearin’ a skirt isn’t really gonna help that, cos most people call me a faggot. So thanks,” the younger Way ended with what almost looked like a blush on his face. Frank shrugged.

“No problem, dude.” He looked up at Gerard, who had an honest-to-god thankful expression on his face. Mikey nodded, and then did something Frank was completely not expecting.

He hugged him.

Okay, well to be fair, it was Gerard’s thing to be haphephobic, not Mikey’s, but Frank still wasn’t expecting it. He just let the older boy’s arms wrap around him, and hesitantly did the same. “Thanks,” Mikey said when he pulled away. Frank nodded, and Gerard made a crude heart with his hands, tongue sticking out playfully. Frank rolled his eyes and Mikey leaned over, slapping him on the arm.

“Mikey, you touched me!” he shrieked, looking not at all bothered as he comically gripped his arm. “Oh, my god, I’m going to die!”

“That’s what you get for being a nuisance,” Mikey laughed. “Stop making hearts at us, you’re totally the one who’s gonna fuck him, not me.”

Frank almost laughed, before he realized what the younger Way had said. “What?”

“Oh, we made a bet that–” Mikey was cut off as Gerard’s hand slapped over his mouth. He shot Frank an apologetic glance.

“Just ignore him, he gets a little crazy when he puts the skirt on. Hey, Mikey, why don’t you go call Pete, huh? Yeah, off you go…” he said insistently, pushing the younger Way in the direction of the hallway.

Mikey turned around and stuck his tongue out at his brother, before huffing out a, “Fine, dicksmack,” and not leaving before he was sure his brother had caught the middle finger he had flashed him.

“Anyway,” Gerard said, putting his smoke back between his lips. The cherry had long since died and he cursed, pulling his lighter out once more. “Tell me about you, Frankie. What’s it like day to day in the Iero household?”

Frank blushed at the nickname, talking around his cigarette as he asked, “Did Mikey not tell you about the sixteen vegetarian dogs?” Gerard shook his head, a humored expression on his face. Frank continued, “Well…”


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing in advance, this chapter is terrible (not sad-wise, it's sad but that's not why it's terrible, it's terrible because there's the sad in it, does that make any sense?). Anyway, enjoy my lovelies, and I promise the plot AND the frerard will move along quicker AND it won't be so fucking depressing.

“Why do you have your scars?”

“Oh?” Frank looked up from a vase that he had been staring intently at, getting lost in his daydreams while Gerard had rambled on about why Doom Patrol was the best, and all the movie directors he would marry if he could. It was actually somewhat cute, Frank had realized, about two minutes into the older boy’s heated monologue, and he had distracted himself with the vase to avoid any case of his blush being accidentally seen.

This question, although expected in the long run, still certainly pulled Frank away from his own world faster than he would have been had the vase he’d been eyeing so intently suddenly came to life.

“Sorry!” Gerard blurted immediately. “Don’t, I mean– forget it, never mind…”

Frank turned away from the vase, one eyebrow raised at the older boy. “It’s fine,” he said, waving Gerard off slightly. Truth be told, it was fine. Frank had about twenty pink, faded scars scattered over the length of his left forearm; each meant nothing to him anymore, except maybe stupidity. He figured Gerard might as well know, since no one was ever curious enough –or maybe Gerard was just lacking a social censor, which Frank didn’t have a very hard time believing.

“I’ll keep it short and sweet,” the younger boy said, flashing Gerard a grin. The older boy still attempted to provide Frank with an opt-out, but he wasn’t having it.

“Basically,” Frank began, “You can’t make incisions to corrupt a mind. It won’t work, and I learned that the hard way.” Frank proceeded to tell the older boy in a very quick, wrapped-up, and carefree manner how he would cut each time he had a dirty thought about a boy, to convince himself that it was wrong. “I eventually realized that if God was like the bible says, he wouldn’t care who I loved, right?”

Gerard wasn’t religious, not really, but he nodded in agreement anyway because it only made sense. “I’m sorry, though,” the older boy added.

Frank shrugged. “I’m sorry you thought it was such a big deal. I mean sure, for a while I felt like I was truly wrong; like I had been made wrong, or something. But when I realized that I had just pulled a big fat dumb move once again, trademark Frank Iero right there… I don’t know. I guess that’s why I don’t hide them, because they don’t bother me; and maybe they’re there in their own sick, weird way to remind me that God loves me no matter what.

“But what about you, though?” Frank finally asked, after the two had slipped back into a somewhat calm manner– if you could call Gerard’s insanely dorky passion about horror movie special effects calm. It took Gerard only a split second to register exactly what Frank meant, and he felt it only fair to share his story if Frank had shared his.

Gerard’s story was a bit different than Frank had been expecting– honestly, Frank didn’t know what to expect; he had a faint suspicion that the cuts might have had to do with the Way brothers’ dad, who Mikey had mentioned earlier in a less than ecstatic tone. 

Gerard didn’t mention his father, though. In fact, he didn’t mention much of anything at first, because all he had started off with was, “Sometimes I try to kill myself.”

“I’m sorry, what?” That was the furthest thing from what Frank had been expecting.

“I hate myself, you know?” Frank did not know. Come to think of it, he wasn’t super surprised about this news, but that didn’t change the fact that Gerard’s self-hate wasn’t as obvious as the older boy had thought.

“I couldn’t fucking graduate high school last year and be even the slightest bit normal, of course I had to fail math.” Gerard sighed. Frank felt déjà vu at this statement, it was something else that he remembered Mikey mentioning. 

“That was the first time,” the older Way added. “The second was when I got beat up by my used-to-be best friend Bert, who found out I might have had a tiny crush on him, but it was tiny okay, and I was drunk when I told him, I wasn’t in my right mind, so he didn’t need to kick my teeth in.”

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, and he meant it. His voice was heavy with sincerity. Gerard just shook his head, waving him off. 

“It’s okay… I mean no, it’s not, but… Fuck, thanks?” Gerard laughed awkwardly and humorlessly, and Frank gave him a sad smile.

“Well, the third one was when I found out about my haphephobia. I couldn’t deal with being a freak in second senior year anyway, so…” Gerard trailed off, seeming to silently recount the memory. “The fourth was when my dad left.” Ah, there it was, Gerard’s dad leaving. Frank suddenly wondered if Mr. Way knew about that. He mustn’t have, Frank thought. No one could be cruel enough to stay away from his or her own child after such an occurrence.

“The last one was, ah…” Gerard bit his lip nervously, almost ashamed. “This was only hours ago,” he finally finished, sighing. He flung his wrist out in offering to Frank, who could clearly tell that the scar deepest, the one right across the older boy’s clearly visible veins, was also the most red and raw looking; in fact, it looked as if it might reopen if Gerard just so happened to move his hand wrong.

Frank was terrified. For only knowing Gerard an hour or two, he most certainly didn’t want to lose him, because for once in Frank’s life, someone was exactly like him, knew exactly how he had felt. If Gerard had succeeded, Frank wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

“Oh, no, no,” Gerard pleaded, his face falling at Frank’s expression. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” Frank just shook his head softly, not looking up at the older boy. The entire occurrence had caused him to fall deep into the part of his mind that loved to torture him with the what ifs and the but hows that he never ever thought of, because he didn’t like to; but now, he was seemingly buried in them. It felt disgustingly suffocating.

“Frank, please– it’s okay, I’m not…” Gerard trailed off. Frank was completely unresponsive, curled in on himself and seemingly lost in an imaginary world. It was starting to freak Gerard out, just a little bit, and he wondered if this was what happened to Mikey when he had panic attacks… oh.

“Mikey!” Gerard called. “Shit.” He turned back to Frank, who was sitting there wide-eyed, breathing unnervingly irregular. “I’ll be right back, don’t move yourself,” and Gerard mentally kicked himself because of course Frank wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Gerard was halfway down the hall, calling his brother’s name with more irritability each time, until he called, “Michael James– unf!”

“What. Do. You. Want.” Mikey growled, and Gerard rubbed at his nose, which he had unfortunately bumped directly into Mikey’s shoulder.

“Fuck, what’s up with you?” Gerard stepped back, taking in his brother’s appearance. He was shirtless, wearing only low-slung grey sweatpants, and his cheeks were flushed unnaturally for someone of such pale complexion… “Mikey, ew! Ew, ew, ew! Blech, gross, you are yuck as fuck,” Gerard whined.

“Didn’t ask you to interrupt me, did I?” Mikey drawled. Gerard wanted to vomit.

“Look,” he said, holding back the urge to gag. “I’ll cry about this for years later, but Frank’s freaking out in there and I need your help, so–”

“Wait, what? He didn’t see a spider, did he?” Mikey looked suddenly concerned.

Gerard blinked. “Uh, no, I told him about my– uh, the thing…” Mikey raised an eyebrow.

“What thing?”

“OkayItriedtokillmyselfthismorningbecauseIthoughyouwerebanishingmeoutofthefamilyforgoodandIfeltworthlessandgrossandI’msorryokay?” Gerard rushed in one long breath.

Mikey let out a sound like an aggravated bat. “You did what?” he yelled. “Gerard, you fucking idiot! You don’t just tell someone that when you first meet them, “Oh, hi, I’m Gerard, I tried to kill myself this m– Wait, what?”

Gerard paled. “What do you mean, what?”

“You tried to kill yourself this morning?” Mikey questioned. Suddenly he looked very scared, and very small, and Gerard wanted to stab himself in the eyes so he didn’t have to see his brother’s raw horror. “Gerard?”

“I’m sorry,” the older Way let out. Mikey gave a choked noise in response, blinking back slight tears.

“I hate you,” Mikey said pathetically, but his voice only held relief that his brother was still there, standing in front of him. “You can’t fucking do that to people, Gerard.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” the older boy whined. “But Frank–!”

“Fuck, I forgot.” Mikey pushed past Gerard and into the living room, where Frank was still sat in the same place, looking the same amount of terrified he had when Gerard had first left.

Mikey crouched down in front of Frank, one hand resting on the youngest boy’s shoulder. “Frank?” No response.

“You idiot, he’s having an anxiety attack,” Mikey mumbled to Gerard, who threw his arms violently out to the side, shouting an, “I’m sorry!”

“Stop being sorry and help me, you dumbfuck,” Mikey hissed quietly. “And stop being so loud!”

“What do you want me to do then?” Gerard whispered fiercely.

“I don’t know, I’m gonna try and get him to snap out of it. Stand by and wait for further instruction,” Mikey requested. 

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Sir, yes sir,” he muttered under his breath. Mikey glared at him.

“Frank, honey?” Mikey cooed softly. “I need you to calm down, okay, kid?” One hand ran soothingly through Frank’s hair. The younger boy blinked hard, his eyes squinting shut.

“No,” he replied, so softly Mikey barely heard him.

“Are you okay?” the younger Way asked. Frank nodded just slightly. “I’m gonna give you to Gerard now, okay? He’s here, he’s not going anywhere, alright?” Frank nodded again, this time more clearly. “Do you need anything?” Mikey asked as he stood up. Frank shook his head.

“Nah,” he responded lightly. Gerard almost gave a victory cry; he could hear the kid’s accent in his words again.

“Gerard, come over here and hold him, I’m calling mom to ask her if we have any Xanax or something, and hope I don’t get arrested,” Mikey sighed.

Gerard walked over to Frank, sitting down awkwardly next to him. Frank turned to look at him and he smiled, softly. Frank tried a timid smile in response and Gerard almost screamed out of relief.

“Mikes, I’ve got some– look in the mirror cabinet of the downstairs bathroom,” Gerard replied. Mikey looked at him, face void of expression.

“We’re not talking about why you have that, Gerard,” he said, more to reassure himself than anything. “We’re not talking about it; no, my brother isn’t leaving, my brother is not a druggie, my brother is not going to overdose and die…”

Gerard felt his heart squeeze painfully at his brother’s words as the younger Way receded down the hallway.

Today had been a fuck of a day.

“Frank?” Gerard finally questioned, when he knew Mikey was downstairs and probably finding an abundance of shit he’d get yelled at later for having.

“Yeah?” Frank replied softly.

“You can go home,” Gerard trailed sadly. Although he had enjoyed the lighter parts of his day with Frank, he wasn’t about to hold the poor kid hostage when he probably felt like running away from the Way house altogether.

“I don’t want to go home,” Frank said. “I like it here, and I like you here. You just scared me, s’all.” Frank sighed. “I probably should have mentioned something beforehand, but I have this deal with anxiety, where if I let my thoughts wander I get paranoid, and I get kinda lost, and it’s scary.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gerard said. “I should have never asked about your scars, and I should have never told you about mine. I was stupid, and I’m all to blame, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault. God, I’m just tired,” Frank said, and then yawned, coincidentally for emphasis. He was intensively tempted to rest his head on Gerard’s shoulder, but he wouldn’t dare to disturb the older boy. He didn’t need two panic attacks in one day.

“C’mere,” Gerard said after a while. Frank looked over at him, questioningly. Gerard held out one arm open, gesturing for Frank to come over to him.

“But you… your hapheph– Wha? Gerard, wait, wait–!” But Frank was cut off as the older boy wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him close so that he was now lying against Gerard, his face in the older teen’s neck.

He tried to ignore the butterflies.

Gerard’s arm rested across Frank’s hip and the younger boy sighed, letting himself relax slightly more and burying his face in Gerard’s chest. “You smell like strawberries,” Frank laughed. Gerard felt the squeezing in his heart again, and his skin was itching where it made contact with Frank’s; but the feelings were slightly different than normal, something that Gerard wasn’t used to.

It took him .5 seconds to realize that this was exactly how he'd felt around Bert.

 

When Mikey finally returned with the Xanax –which he’d found behind a myriad other prescription pills that Gerard really shouldn’t have; he cursed his brother for being a legal adult– he returned to the sleeping form of his brother cuddled around the much smaller form of his new friend. They both looked so fragile.

Mikey sighed, shoulders slumping. He set the bottle of pills upon the highest shelf in the kitchen he could reach before returning to his room, burying his face in his pillow and allowing a small sob to escape his lips.

He loved his god damned brother so much; but sometimes he hated his family.


	8. Part Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really weird chapter– there's a meaningful talk in there, and humor somewhere, but at least the Frerard moves along... and almost some hints of Ryden and Pikey, if you look hard enough.

“I hate PE.”

Frank slowed his sorry excuse for a jog down to a stop, hands pressed on his knees as he keeled over, breathing ragged and sharp. He felt as if he had inhaled thumbtacks. Brendon stood next to him, jogging lightly in place– seriously, how did the kid do it? He watched Frank with a mix of slight concern and humor before sarcastically drawling, “Really? Oh, I couldn’t tell!”

“Shut up,” Frank said, and wheezed for good measure. “Curse my fucking lungs, dammit. Why the fuck did I have to transfer in the middle of track unit?”

Brendon had stopped jogging by now, and he blinked, face clear of expression. “You don’t look so good, Frank. Should I take you to the nurse?” Frank attempted waving him off, but a loud cough foiled his plan.

“Fuck, fuck no. I’ll be fine,” he said. Brendon didn’t look reassured in the slightest.

“Boys! Urie, Iero, get back to running!” the coach, some pinprick ex-drill sergeant called from across the gym. Frank was entirely tempted to give him the finger, but Brendon pushed his arm down halfway, and called back, “I’m pretty sure Frank’s dying, Mr. Salinas, can I take him to the nurse?”

Mr. Salinas grunted and began walking over to the two boys. Frank attempted to stand up and not look like a pathetic weakling– he shoved Brendon’s arm away from himself but the boy barely budged; for being so thin, he was really pretty solid.

“Iero,” the coach called, and Frank withheld the great want to sarcastically salute him. “Do you have a doctor’s note to get out of the rest of this period?”

Frank narrowed his eyes at the large, tall man. “Of course I don’t,” he responded snippily, and then wheezed again. Mr. Salinas looked down his long, fat nose at Frank with distaste.

“Then you will continue running until the shower bell rings,” Mr. Salinas spat. Frank growled; Brendon looked appalled.

“But, Sir, he’s practically wheezing himself to death–!” Brendon tried to interject, but the coach turned and gave him the most evil glare Frank had ever seen in his sixteen years of life.

“Urie, are you the one with the breathing problems?” he grunted.

“Well, no Sir–” Brendon began to stutter out, but he was cut off once more.

“Then you do not get any say on the matter. Back to running, boys, or you get a zero for the day,” Mr. Salinas snarled, and then turned around, waddling back to his chair.

“His fucking chair,” Brendon hissed as the overweight man sat down, watching the running children with a sadistic smile on his face. “One day I’m going to steal that fucking chair and shove it up his ass.”

Frank let out what was originally supposed to be a light chuckle– turned gross, heavy cough. “Shut up, Bren. Don’t make me fucking laugh,” he whined, and stood up completely straight– or as straight as he could get himself without a lung collapsing. “Hey, Mr. Salinas! If I die, I’m totally suing!” Frank shouted.

He received a gruff, “Good luck; being a ghost and all.” Frank grimaced.

“I wish I were a ghost,” he grumbled under his breath, “so I could fucking haunt your ass.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, turning to Brendon. “Well, time to start dying again.”

Brendon gave a sympathetic nod. “Yeah, and you can tell me all about yesterday.”

Yesterday– and the Ways, right. Oh, yeah. Brendon would have fun hearing about that.

•••••

“Wait, you what?” Brendon only blinked at Frank, slow and disbelieving. Frank sighed, leaning against the brick wall. Last period had gotten out five minutes ago, and Frank had nearly escaped being hassled to death by a not-so-emotion-lacking younger Way who had nearly thrown himself at lunch, warning that, “I’ll try to stop him, I swear, but he’s ruthless! Don’t be jacking off now when we get there, or nothing,” and Frank was so confused he’d just let the moment roll.

It wasn’t until he was recounting the day’s events prior to Brendon that he realized Mikey had meant they would be over, at his house, after school.

The Ways were seriously fucking weird.

“It wasn’t nothin’, weird, you know?” Frank breathed out, cheeks pink from the autumn cold and maybe the memory of cuddling (could you really call it that?) with Gerard the day before.

“Except it was,” Brendon pried. “You went over to his house, what?”

“I did,” Frank grunted in protest. He didn’t really feel like recalling the day previous’ events to a hyped-up skinny kid in a bowtie. 

“Well, what happened?” Brendon leered. Frank rolled his eyes.

“What do you know about the Ways?” he asked, turning to look questioningly at his friend. He wasn’t so sure that telling around about Mikey’s cross-dressing or Gerard’s… whatever-it-was was going to get him on the right track with anybody.

“Well, I know that they’re weird,” Brendon retorted sarcastically. “I mean, Gerard’s art-y, and he never showers and stays away from people like they’re plague. Mikey’s endearing, but aloof– a lot of junior girls dig that kinda thing, but he doesn’t really swing that way, so he’s super popular with the ‘mocking jocks’… I heard he has a thing for Wentz…” Brendon trailed off. Frank flapped a hand in front of the other boy’s face.

“You’re rambling, Bren. Wait, Wentz, who’s W–”

“That’s not the point, though,” Brendon whined, cutting him off. “How were they, you know, in person?”

“Well, if you’d let me get there,” Frank groaned. Brendon sent him a sheepish grin.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well you’re still not shutting up.” Frank decided this was the point where he’d just give up on what was right to admit or not. It wasn’t like Brendon telling any of his friends –the two, he’d heard Brendon admit, himself and a weird freshman named Ryan Ross who he was pretty sure he’d seen like a locker once, and not even on a dare– so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Mikey rocks a miniskirt, man,” Frank breathed out when he was sure Brendon wasn’t listening.

Apparently not. The kid had eagle-vision, but for ears. “What?”

“M’not sayin’ I dig it,” Frank blushed. “I mean that’s totally cool, it’s expressive,” he added, rambling, “but like, I dunno. And Gerard’s got this weird touch thing, you know, he doesn’t like people touching him, really…” Frank trailed off. He still wasn’t too sure about the whole truth behind Gerard’s haphephobia, especially after that whole cuddling (Frank decided, it was totally cuddling) deal.

“Wait, Mikey Way wears miniskirts?” Brendon let out a tiny laugh. “What?”

“Mm?” Frank questioned, his attention having been lost at the thought of Gerard’s arm around his hip, the feeling of the older boy’s heartbeat under his ear. He looked up to Brendon quickly, almost shy. “Sorry? What, I didn’t hear–”

“Mikey in a mini,” Brendon drawled. “Never pegged him the type. I can kinda see it though,” the boy trailed off, getting lost in his thoughts. “Wow, ooh, I imagined it. Okay, pushing that visual away.” Brendon’s face scrunched up and he laughed. “Speaking of Mikey… what was that deal at lunch? I mean, he practically screamed a warning at you– was it a warning? I mean, I heard like two logical words in that whole sentence and I’m pretty sure I heard him use apostrophes wrong…” Frank chose to ignore Brendon’s weird hatred over incorrect apostrophe use as he thought back, almost in slight horror, to lunch.

Right. The Ways were going to be at his house, after school– and he’d spent a half hour loitering outside school, talking to Brendon.

“Fuck, Bren, I gotta go,” he said apologetically, cutting a very vigorously lost-in-his-thoughts Brendon immediately. “Sorry, but that warning, or whatever? Was Mikey, yeah, um telling me about– what, I don’t even–” Frank cut himself off, leaning in to give Brendon a quick hug. “I mean I guess they’re coming over,” he added frantically, pulling away. “I’ll fill you in!” Frank shouted and Brendon barely had a chance to open his mouth for reply’s sake before Frank had shoved himself into his car, pulling out of the school’s student parking.

He was not ready for this. What was it with the Ways and their seeming abrupt need to consume his life?

If Frank thought about it hard enough, though, he really didn’t mind.

•••••

“I tried to stop him,” Mikey said, the second Frank pulled open his door. His mom wasn’t yet home –a note said something about staying late at the salon which Frank had shrugged off in favor of the defrosted blueberry poptart she had left as well– and he had spent the majority of his time since home arrival hectically scourging his room for something decent enough to wear that wasn’t his ridiculous uniform. He stood with the door open out to the two Ways with nothing on but a pair of Batman boxers and the most oversized Metallica shirt the world had produced, and he really regretted not calling out a ridiculous, “Who is it?” to save face in front of his probably new friend and oddly attractive older brother.

“Batman,” Gerard grinned, the word drawled lazily from his crooked lip. His eyes flicked over Frank’s body and he gave a mischievous smile. Mikey just looked tired– and done. Tired and done and Frank almost understood because Jesus, Gerard was leering at him and he wanted to hide every part of his body under the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, I kinda have a boner for comics?” Frank let it out as a question, but that didn’t seem to mean a thing at all to Gerard, who just grinned at Frank like he’d been the second coming of Christ.

“Marry me, or something?” Gerard giggled. Frank couldn’t help but remember how stupidly perfect that giggle had been, every time that he’d heard it. Mikey’s eyes rolled and he shoved past Frank, into the house.

“Ugh, the UST in this room is choking me, and it’s not even mine,” Mikey intoned. He flopped himself down onto the couch and looked up at Fran, slightly apologetic. “I’m only staying around for a bit. Gerard wanted to get all intimate with you and his pen–” Gerard blushed at Frank’s widened eyes and Mikey figured it best to add, “That’s not like, a metaphor for his dick or whatever. He actually had an actual pen and he’s actually going to draw all over you. I just don’t stay around for that part because he gets all… augh, never mind. Ignore me, whatever.” Mikey waved them off, turning around in search for the remote. 

Frank looked back at Gerard, who was still in the doorway, wringing his hands nervously. “You can come in?” It was a question met by suffocating silence, and then the older Way slipped past him without not much other than a, “Thanks,” and maybe a, “Hi.”

“Look,” Gerard said, as soon as Frank had shut the door and turned to face him. “I kinda had a revelation, you know?” Frank did not know. He never knew; he wished people would stop assuming he did. “Well, anyway,” the older boy said, waving him off. “I figured that I could just draw on you, you know? Cos I don’t really like touching people, but it wouldn’t be me, it would be the pen, or whatever? So I could, I dunno; it would be the same as, like, high-fiving you or like giving you a brohug or whatever-the-fuck,” Gerard’s rambling was slightly lost to Frank at the suggestion of what the older boy was saying.

“You know who draws on each other, Gerard?” and the older boy looked up, biting his lip. “People in relationships,” Frank finished.

Mikey snorted from the couch. He had given up on his remote-search and was now texting very enthusiastically someone on the receiving end of his Sidekick. “I told him that,” the younger Way added, before snapping his phone shut. “Hey, bro, I’m gonna be out with Pete. I’ll come get you at like, whatever time? I dunno, just text me or whatev–” The younger boy’s words were cut off as he slipped out the door, seemingly uncaring that his message was not fully delivered.

When Frank turned back to Gerard, the older boy was still grinning like his revelation had been from the messiah himself. Frank thought it was cute– he didn’t mention this.

•••••

“Your room is cool,” Gerard said from his place on Frank’s bed. The younger boy’s arm was currently extended in the elder’s lap, being drawn on every now and then when Gerard’s eyes would stop wandering from Black Flag poster to Iron Maiden wall of sacredness. Frank nodded in response– he realized this was dumb the moment he coincidentally realized the older Way wasn’t looking at him at all.

“Yeah, it’s home,” Frank sighed. He did like his room; it was the perfect size of average– not too tiny to bother with his claustrophobia but not too large to collect spider webs every which way.

“Sorry, I’m getting distracted a lot,” Gerard apologized quietly, returning to his drawing of cartoon vampire!Frank and chibi zombie!Gee running off into the sunset together. Frank didn’t know what this drawing was suggesting. He liked it a lot, though. 

“It’s fine,” he said, shifting lightly as the pen tickled at his skin. If anyone was getting distracted, it was most certainly him– for having a weird introverted nerd with everything but the glasses hovering over him, a hand just so barely touching Frank’s hip every now and then as he attempted to steady himself– it was a bit distracting, especially how enveloped Gerard would get into his work, biting at his lip or puffing his cheeks out in frustration.

It was really cute and weirdly hot, and Frank wanted to die. No, he thought. No crushes on the weird kid in second senior year. Those kinds of things are not allowed, Jesus.

“If I fuck up,” Gerard mumbled, “I give ten thousand apologies.” Frank shrugged, pushing down the though of, “If you fuck up, fuck me,” because it was absolutely ridiculous and entirely inappropriate and Frank wasn’t even really sure he meant it– he could just be having weird teenage boy feelings, which was likely because he was a teenage boy.

“It’s kinda perfect,” Frank admitted when Gerard pulled away from his art, pen capped and hanging loose in his mouth like a cigarette. Maybe that’s what his crooked smile came from, Frank thought as he saw the pen droop out of the particular already-droopy corner.

“Ya think?” Gerard spoke around the pen. Frank nodded, bringing his arm up to examine the work more. It was a vampire and zombie version of the boys indeed, complete with different shades of sunset and a crude, “FRNKI + G SAVE THE DAY” scribbled underneath chibi zombie!Gerard’s feet.

Frank might have to take up the marriage proposal, he realized while staring at the drawing. He was pretty sure Gerard was just about perfect.

“I think,” Frank smirked back. Gerard gave him a bright grin; teeth shining and eyes squeezed shut. He looked like a five-year-old. Frank needed to stop staring at him.

Frank almost wanted to say something cheesy, something overwhelmingly dumb like, “Hey, I have a supermural painted on my ceiling,” to get Gerard to lay down next to him, but he didn’t need to; the older boy was already shuffling closer, collapsing himself near on top of Frank in his haste.

“I like you, Kid,” Gerard giggled. “You’re pretty fucking cool– most of Mikey’s friends are weird, but not you. You like Danzig and Grant Morrison and you have a dumb smile, and you’re short.” Frank thought this was the absolute best thing anyone had ever told him in his life– even the short part.

“Yeah?” he asked. Gerard looked up, nodding at him. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. Frank rolled his eyes playfully and shoved at the older boy.

“Well I think you’re the fucking bee’s knees, Gee,” he mocked. “I mean, I do. To your proposal, or whatever; cos you have a crooked mouth and dumb pretty eyes and you rant like a motherfucker, and you have passion in your life, and reason behind everything you do. Fuck, Gerard, you’re the cool one, I mean– hell. I take a swing at that ball and hope it hits home, you fucking know where that ball’s hitting to before you even step up to bat. Why are you so great?” Frank suddenly felt as if he were on a high, words of emotion pouring out of his mouth in an excessive waterfall. “You’ve got a lot going for you, you know? What, three days and I can tell. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.” 

And in that moment, in the room that had never seemed so small, with a boy that had never seemed so perfect, it had. It had seemed to Frank as if he’d know the older his entire life, and not the majority of a three-day period.

Gerard grinned up at him, and a hand reached up, only to catch Frank by surprise as it found and gripped his own. “You talk big about someone so fucking small,” he sighed.

Frank thought this was stupid. Gerard was not small. Frank had to giggle at that, because it sounded so fucking wrong, before letting out, “I know you aren’t though. You’re gonna grow up with 2.5 and a picket fence, and you’ll be an artist, and everyone will love you no matter what weird shit you spew. Me? Eh, I’ll be a bum in Belleville who plays local shows once a year, if he’s lucky. I’ll live under a punk rock and I won’t know the top 40 and God be damned if I ever find anyone to share in my misery, but I’ll be fine as long as I have you and Pansy.”

Gerard blinked up at him, almost sadly. “You’ll go places to, Frankie. No one ever just stops. I mean, you’ll be in bands, and I’ll be in a rut, I know it. But maybe you’re right,” and then the older boy laughed. “I think I’ll be okay too, if I got you, and Mikes.”

Frank grinned back at him. “See? Why we worrying over this shit anyway, taking about life plans like we’re high and twenty-two on a never-ending happy bender, like who cares? Fuck plans, man. Wherever life takes me, as long as I got you, I’ll deal.”

Gerard gave him a small smile in response, uncapped his pen, and began to doodle aimlessly on Frank’s revealed leg. Frank can’t see from here but that doesn’t matter right now– what matters is that he’s got Gerard, no matter how long he’s know him; and Gee’s hand still hasn’t let go of his own.


	9. Part Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably has a lot of errors, please excuse that. Hope you enjoy!

“…and you’re telling me that he actually held your hand?”

Frank nodded. Brendon just looked up over the book he was reading, his entirely perfected bitchface on. “I don’t believe you,” he said curtly, setting the book down. Frank sighed.

“I didn’t ask you to believe me, but m’not lying,” he responded, glancing lazily down at the food he pushed halfheartedly around his plate. Brendon gave a scoff, leaned over, and pulled Frank’s plate from him.

“If you aren’t gonna eat this, I will,” he said, stabbing a piece of lettuce before bringing it to his mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with salad.”

“Says the carnivore to the vegetarian,” Frank drawled, rolling his eyes. “I know that,” he said, pulling his plate back. “I’m just a bit distracted and– hey, quit eating my fucking tomatoes!”

Brendon grinned around a mouthful of cherry tomato halves, throwing Frank’s fork back at him and laughing slightly.

“You’re a dick,” Frank whined. Brendon was halfway through opening his mouth to respond when seemingly out of nowhere appeared someone dressed almost identical to Brendon, the day that Frank had met him.

“Bren!” the mystery kid squealed, rubbing his face on Brendon’s shoulder. Frank blinked at this; Brendon was unfazed.

“Hey, baby,” he said, turning to the kid clinging to him. He ran a hand through the boy’s hair before turning back to Frank. “This is Ryan,” he said.

A look of realization crossed Frank’s face. Now, he could most definitely see the similarities in the shape of the kid’s nose of the way his eyes sparkled wild¬– this was most definitely the kid Frank saw lick a locker that one time. Well, okay.

“Yeah, you’ve told me about him,” Frank said cautiously, busying himself with the salad he had become suddenly interested in. Brendon looked over at him and snorted, hitting his hand before saying, “My boyfriend, you remember me telling you?”

And no, Frank didn’t. He never remembered, he never knew, and if it was as of late he was probably too busy thinking about Gerard anyway, but he responded with a, “Yeah,” hoping to get out of the situation quickly.

The kid, Ryan (and now Frank most definitely remembered seeing him around school, doing a lot more weird that licking metal and combination locks) sat himself down on Brendon’s lap, one arm wrapped around the other boy’s waist. “Hey, Bren,” he giggled, leaning in to him. “S’up?”

Brendon gave the brunette boy a wide smile. “Not much, m’just eating lunch with Frank– hey, I told you about him, right?”

Ryan looked over at Frank. “Yeah, you’re the one the Ways wanna fuck, or whatnot.”

Frank blushed. “No, I don’t think that’s–” but he didn’t get a clear response out before Brendon interrupted with, “No, that’s Pete.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan sighed, hugely over-exaggerated realization in his voice. “Right, yeah, Mikey wants in Pete’s pants. Wait, then whose pants does Gerard want in?”

“Frank’s,” Brendon responded at the same time Frank said, “No one’s.”

“Wait, now I’m confused,” the brunette boy whined. “He doesn’t want in anyone’s pants but he wants in Frank’s pants but he doesn’t want in– wait, what?”

“Frank’s in denial,” Brendon grinned.

“I am not!” Frank cried, throwing a cherry tomato half at the older boy. “He doesn’t want in my pants or anyone else’s, because he’s got that weird haphephobia-whatever.”

“But yet he holds your hand,” Brendon grinned. “You know, and that one time he cuddled you,” Frank regretted ever letting that slip, “or the fact that he’s always touching you like, or the shoulder, and when you see him now he hugs you… and he’s drawn all over you, like I don’t think I’ve seen you once without a sleeve after you hang out with him.”

“That means jack shit,” Frank grumped. Brendon just smiled.

“Face it, Frankie. You like him, really, and he likes you too.” Ryan nodded enthusiastically.

“Whatever,” Frank sighed. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Because you love me,” Brendon grinned, once again stealing a tomato half from the younger boy. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Ryan’s cheek, before asking him, “So how’d you do on that Bio test, sweetie?”

“Probably terrible,” the brunette whined. “I remembered about three things, and I probably remembered them wrong, so that’s just great.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Frank began, glad the focus was off him for the moment, “I sucked at Bio too. I swear they put questions on there about shit you never learn.”

“Yeah!” Ryan cried. “Like, there was a question on the nervous system and we’re in fucking photosynthesis right now! I don’t know about the nervous system, I don’t give a shit about the nervous system!”

“Calm down, sweetie,” Brendon purred, running a hand through the other boy’s hair. “It’s gonna be okay, I’m sure you did great.”

“You’re just saying that,” Ryan whined. Frank giggled. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” and Frank realized, at that moment that he was about to compare the way Gerard acted around him to the way Ryan acted around Brendon, and they were in a relationship, and oh. “Never mind,” Frank said quickly, distracting himself with a lone piece of carrot.

“Well whatever to you to,” Ryan pouted. “Face it, Brendon, I suck at Bio. Your tutoring is clearly not helping me.”

“Well maybe if you’d actually focus on the material, and not in getting into my pants…”

“Whatever,” Ryan bitched. “You love it.”

“Guys, you’re super cute together and I really don’t mind if you sit here and relationship all over the place, but I don’t need the visuals,” Frank groaned. Brendon laughed.

“Whatever, Catholic Boy. You’re just jealous that your boy is clueless when it comes to being at all much of anything.”

“You know what, he’s not my boy–”

“But you want him to be,” Brendon cut off. Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, Bren tells me about the way you talk about him.” Ryan clapped his hands together and held them near his heart, and faked gooey lovesick eyes. “Oh, Gerard is so perfect and his art is so pretty, and he smells like strawberries and his voice is like angel orgasms,” the brunette mocked, and then giggled. “You’re totally in love with him, or something.”

“Whatever,” Frank groaned, defeated. “And anyway, if I did, I wouldn’t go about it like that.”

Brendon laughed. “Except you kinda do. Maybe not as exaggerated as Ry does,” and Brendon kissed Ryan’s cheek, “but you do. You talk about him like he’s the Second Coming, and your eyes get all happy and your voice gets all dreamy…” Frank glared at him. “What, you do!”

“It doesn’t matter if I do,” Frank sighed. “It’s not like I can take him home to my mom anyway. No, “Hey mom, this is my 19-year-old boyfriend” would go over well at all.”

“Wait, he’s nineteen?” Ryan asked. Frank nodded, rubbing at his face in frustration.

“Yeah, he’s legally an adult, he can buy cigarettes ‘n he always flaunts it in Mikey’s face. So if it’s not bad enough that he’s a, you know, he, and my mom would already probably have a shock enough over that…”

“Oh,” Brendon said softly. “That’s shit then, I’m sorry.”

Frank shrugged. “It’s not like he likes me anyway, so whatever about it, okay? Can we just not today?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Brendon answered. “Well, fuck. Oh, are you going to the midnight showing of like… augh, what is it, the um, the uh…” he snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory. “Fuck, baby, what’s that thing this Friday, the old movies or whatever?”

Ryan giggled. “It’s like a bunch of old horror movies, like Lugosi and Vincent Price and it’s gonna be so awesome!”

“Yeah, are you going to that?” Brendon asked. Frank shook his head.

“I dunno. I’m poor as shit, so probably not,” he sighed. “But it sounds super fun, so if you go tell me all about it, okay?”

“He’s not going,” Ryan whined. “I tried to bribe him with like, a lot of sex, but he’s stubborn, so… I’ll tell you about it!”

“Oh, thanks,” Frank said. “Yeah, if I go I’ll chill with you then, okay?”

“Yeah, totally!” Ryan grinned. Brendon pouted.

“Don’t be stealing my boyfriend now,” he whined. Frank laughed.

“Only cos you won’t go, pussy,” Ryan sighed.

“I’m not gonna steal him, Bren, you can trust me,” Frank giggled. “Plus, I might not go anyway. Do you know what movies are supposed to be playing, though?” he asked, turning to Ryan. “Maybe if I can pull the puppy dog eyes, my mom will let me go.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ryan exclaimed. “Yeah, I know Bela’s Dracula is playing, and I think House on Haunted Hill or The Fly, something like that.”

“Oh, sweet! Okay, now I have to go. I’m definitely putting my all into getting this,” Frank laughed.

“Fuck yeah!” Ryan giggled, holding up his hand and high-fiving Frank. “See you there, then.”

•••••

“Your pants should be illegal in all 50 states,” Gerard laughed, walking up and grabbing his younger brother around the waist, pulling him away from his fretting at the mirror. Mikey let out a squeak, pushing away from the older boy slightly.

“Get off, stop mussing me up, I’m going on a date today,” the younger hissed playfully, standing upright and exaggeratedly dusting himself off.

“Are you kidding?” Gerard grinned. “He finally asked you out? Mikes, that’s great!” the older Way exclaimed, moving to hug his brother.

“Hold on,” Mikey whined, holding up a hand to block Gerard. “Let’s get this straight, first. I asked him out, not the other way around. And,” the younger said, blushing lightly, “he accepted. So, yeah.”

“Ugh, I’m so proud I could die,” Gerard groaned, but a grin was quite obviously hidden in his words. “My baby brother is growing up and going on dates and asking people on dates, holy shit!” 

“Stop being Mom, okay?” Mikey laughed.

“Well, she’s not here to be Mom, so I have to,” Gerard sighed, and he sat down on the edge of Mikey’s bed. “Speaking of Mom… she called last night, after you were asleep? She’s not getting back this Friday, she’s been held back another week up at the gallery…”

“Oh…” Mikey’s shoulders slumped, and he sat next to Gerard on the bed. “That’s okay, I guess… It’s not like I’m left with you all the time, you know.”

“Shut up, I’m not that bad,” Gerard laughed, and he wrapped one arm around his brother. Mikey looked down, and then up at the older boy.

“It’s easier for you, as of late?” Gerard nodded.

“Yeah, Frank’s pretty touchy-feely… I kinda had to get used to it.” Mikey snorted. “What?”

“He’s like that with you because he likes you,” Mikey said, “and it’s easier for you to deal with because you like him, too.”

“Yeah, about that…” and Gerard sighed. “I think I do, Mikes. I mean, I really think I do, but fuck, I’m an adult now, and he’s not even sixteen. Not to mention the whole deal over… well, never mind.”

“Are you seriously complaining about age, Gee? Have you not ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?”

“It was legal to be a creeper back then,” Gerard whined, falling back on the bed and dragging the younger boy with him.

“Whatever,” Mikey said, cuddling up to his older brother. “Don’t be a whiner, he likes you I can tell. I talk with him in History, and he talks about you like you’re a god, Gee.”

“He’s kinda perfect,” Gerard admitted. “I mean, besides the fact that he’s beautiful… he likes horror movies, and he listens to me rant and doesn’t interrupt like someone I know,” and Gerard pinched at Mikey’s side.

“Fuck off, okay?” the younger Way giggled. “It gets boring listening to you talk over and over about the same things over and over.”

“Anyway,” Gerard grunted, interrupting, “besides the fact that he listens, and he’s adorable… Well, you know when I liked Bert?”

Mikey nodded, and his fingers found Gerard’s wrist, where they softly brushed up and down against the angry scars. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I remember.”

“Well, whenever he would touch me, like give me a hug or high-five or whatnot, I would always get those dumb chills, you know, or butterflies or whatever… Stop laughing at me!” Gerard huffed. Mikey buried his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“Stop sounding like a little bitch,” he giggled, words muffled. Gerard sighed.

“Whatever. Anyway, it’s like that when Frank touches me, but a lot… more. Like, I hate it when people touch me, when people I don’t know get too close to me. But him? I don’t want him to stop, I mean–” The older boy stopped halfway, before adding, “You’re right, I do sound like a little bitch. So, I’m gonna shut up. Tell me about this date, eh? Where’re you guys going?”

“I’m talking him to the movies,” Mikey blushed, “and then we’re gonna go get coffee, and then we’re gonna come home and I’m gonna make him something to eat, like actual food…”

“Wow, he must really love you if he’s trusting you to cook for him,” Gerard laughed. “Remember when you put that fork in the toaster–”

“Don’t remind me!” Mikey cried, but Gerard was already off in his own world.

“…or the space heater/shower incident… Yeah, you’re a bit of a scatterbrain sometimes,” the older boy giggled.

Mikey pouted. “Don’t be a bitch,” he whined.

“Alright, fine. I’m done. But… ugh…”

“What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about him, Mikes. Help me; hit me on the head or something, please. It’s never gonna happen, I can’t start hoping it will.” Gerard sighed.

“Maybe you really will be like Romeo and Juliet then, having a secret relationship or something. That’d be cool, you know. ‘For never was there a tale of more woe than that of Gerard and his Frank Iero’”, Mikey laughed.

“Stop being a butt! Ugh, I just want to cuddle him forever, but I can’t. My life is so hard, why do I have to be so old, dammit!”

“Just thank me for meeting him in the first place, hey? Or not, maybe if I hadn’t met him you wouldn’t be suffering… Well, yeah you would. Okay, alright, admit that I’m awesome,” Mikey grinned.

“You are,” Gerard said. “It’s just… ugh.”

“Yeah, I know, Gee. It’s just… ugh. But hey, try and not be around when Pete’s here, kay? Like, you can be around, but don’t slump off everywhere like life is so hard.”

“Life is so hard!” the older boy whined. “But fine, Mikes. I’m not gonna ruin your big moment… aw, though, if you guys start getting serious, please at least do it at his house.”

“Yeah, well same goes to you and Frank,” the younger Way laughed.

“As if.”


	10. Part Ten (Final)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read this and left comments and kudos, to those who enjoyed and will still love me even after this probably sucky ending! Thank you for all the support, I'll see you again in a while once I've started working on my newest story. xokilljoy

One month later

 

“We could run away, you know.”

Frank laughed; and as he was pulled from his daydreams he turned his gaze from the window to Gerard, where the older boy was hovering slightly, tracing fine lines in sharpie on the younger’s arm. He figured he would play along, because he knew Gerard liked it when he did, so he laughed again and said, “Well, where would we go?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard muttered, and he diverted his attention from his artwork on Frank’s skin to Frank himself, and said, “Anywhere. We could go anywhere,” and he smiled, softly.

“Yeah, I guess we could.” The corner of Frank’s mouth quirked up a bit and he sighed, and when his hazel eyes met Gerard’s, he asked, “But why?”

The older boy’s expression faltered for merely a second, but he responded with a clear voice, “Because I want to run away with you.”

Frank’s heart fluttered slightly, but he remained poised as he reached over to entwine his fingers in the older boy’s own. “But you have me right here,” he said, in confusion. “We wouldn’t need to run away…”

“But I don’t, though,” and the boy’s gaze fluttered down to what he had drawn previously on the younger’s arm. “I don’t have you on the days that you’re sick, or I’m drunk; and I don’t have you with me each time I say goodnight to the sun; and I don’t have you when all I think about is you, alone, because you, Frank Iero, have changed my life.” And Gerard held up Frank’s arm for him to see what the older boy had drawn there; and it was chibi zombie!Gerard indeed, holding cartoon vampire!Frank’s hand as they ran off into the sunset, and the caption was, “I really, really like you.”

“Gerard?” The name wasn’t much more than a whisper, and Frank left it hanging in the air, almost a question. “I–”

Gerard gripped Frank’s hand tighter, and he blushed when their eyes met. “I don’t know what it’s like, being in a relationship, because I’ve never tried… and I’m scared. But I know I want to try with you, because you’re kinda the only thing that’s been keeping me sane lately, even though I’ve kind of been going crazy in the process over anything you could have said to this, and I guess I really haven’t given you a chance, I’m sorry, I’m just some creepy art loser in second senior year and I live in my basement and oh, God I’m rambling and I’m sorry, and I don’t even know what people do in relationships–”

But the younger boy cut him off with a smile, and he let his hand fall from Gerard’s grip to the older boy’s cheek, and he said, “I do,” and brought his lips ever so gently to Gerard’s…

…and Mikey walked in.

“Hey, you guys– aw, oh, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” and the younger Way faltered in the doorway for a bit, until Gerard pulled away from Frank and glared at his brother, who squeaked out, “Just, I’m gonna go with Pete, uh, have fun!” and dashed away from the doorway.

“I hate him so much sometimes,” Gerard groaned, and he fell back onto the bed in defeat. Frank giggled from his spot next to the older boy, and he let his hand find Gerard’s again, so that he was now turned to face the younger teen.

Gerard blushed, ever so slightly, and he said, “See, if I ran away with you, people wouldn’t be walking in every five seconds,” and Frank giggled, and pressed the tip of his nose to Gerard’s.

“I’ve never done this, either, so I don’t know what to do, really… but I’ve been wanting to do that since forever ago, so I knew it had to be the right thing…” He trailed off and bit his lip, and Gerard sighed in pine for the younger boy’s mouth to be on his again.

“You could stop talking and kiss me,” he interrupted, and Frank blushed; but the younger boy leaned in again, and pressed his parted pastel lips to Gerard’s own, just barely chapped and indented from all the biting he did to them, and he let out a sigh, and it was perfect.

And his phone buzzed, in his front pocket, and it startled him so much he jumped away, and then sat back, frowning as he pulled it out and hit ‘Accept Call’.

“Brendon, what do you want?”

“I got laid,” the older boy chuckled from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, and?” Frank asked, rubbing at his temple in frustration. “Ryan made it sound like you guys do that a lot, should I be impressed?”

“Well, Ryan’s a liar, because we don’t,” Brendon stated, as if it was obvious. “Well, we didn’t,” he then added, and, “It was fucking great, Frank. You should try it sometime. Not with Ryan though, or me, sorry, just need to clarify… Gerard, though, maybe?”

Frank hoped Brendon could feel his glare from where the older boy sat, giggling stupidly into Frank’s ear. “Yeah, no, I didn’t think you meant you or Ryan, Bren,” and he sighed. “But I am kinda busy with Gerard right now, so if you could kindly just… not? That’d be great.”

“Wait, you’re boning him right now?” Brendon squealed. “Holy shit, whoops, sorry! Well, yeah, then I better leave you to that.”

“Brendon, no I’m not having sex with him right no–” But the older boy cut him off with a, “You can tell me all the dirty details tomorrow,” and hung up the phone.

“Please tell me you heard none of that conversation,” Frank begged, and when he turned back to Gerard’s wide, amused eyes, he knew he was out of luck.

“So that’s Brendon,” he giggled. “Well, you don’t suppose we should give him something to hear about tomorrow, then?” and Frank didn’t think he’d ever felt his face that hot.

“Gerard,” he whined, and the older boy laughed.

“I’m just teasing you…” but he trailed off, and sighed, heavily, and said, “It’s not like I want to go to jail, or anything.” And oh, that’s what Gerard had meant when he’d said to Frank that he couldn’t have him, and oh, that’s why he wanted to run away; and Frank suddenly wanted to run away as well, somewhere in the world where no amount of police officers, religious guilt, or his mother’s wrath could find them.

“Oh,” he said, softly, and then, “Well, fuck.” And he turned to Gerard, who looked so downtrodden he couldn’t help but kiss him once more, and when he pulled back, there was a rainbow-sized gleam on his face.

“What?” Gerard asked, confusion heavy in his tone, and Frank said, “When do we run away?”

The End


End file.
